Barren
by Bastila481
Summary: In the aftermath of the events in 'Obsession', Casey's life is spiraling out of control. Olivia wants nothing more than to help her, but will Casey let her? Repost! CO Femslash.
1. Chapter 1

**Barren**

**Disclaimer**: Don't own them, though I wish I did.

**Pairing**: Casey/Olivia established relationship.

**Notes and Warnings**: Femslash. It also deals with the aftermath of rape, so it's not a happy piece folks.

**Chapter 1**

_Barren (adjective) - 1) Bleak and lifeless. 2) Without._

The smoke from the tip of the cigarette snakes around in an intricate pattern that dances in the predawn darkness. I sit watching it, mildly fascinated, as I take another drink from the strong scotch in my glass. Bringing the cigarette back to my mouth, I inhale the minty smoke deep into my lungs and close my eyes, savoring the rich flavor.

I haven't smoked for over two years. It was a nasty little habit, picked up in law school, that I thought I'd given up. I guess I was wrong. I've been wrong a lot lately . . .

I thought I was strong, but Madeline Forbes showed me differently. She's dead, by my hand no less, and yet she still haunts me. Her face still dominates my nightmares and her voice is forever whispering in my subconscious mind. My nightmares are horrifying images, a juxtaposition of Milan Zergin and Madeline Forbes, that steal any hope of a full nights sleep.

Even Olivia, my sweet protector, is beginning to show the exhaustion born of being awakened night after night by my screams. She wouldn't tell me, she's not like that. Instead she just holds me until I manage to either fall back asleep, or get out of bed in disgust and leave her to sleep alone.

Two months have passed and I don't feel as if I've even begun to assimilate what she did to me. I remember more of the attack now, it comes to me in my nightmares, though I still swear to Olivia that I don't. If she thinks I can't remember, then she won't press me to talk about it. Maybe if I don't have to talk about it . . . actually tell someone _how_ it occurred . . . then it won't be real. Maybe then, I can leave it in the realm of nightmares where it belongs.

I pull the blanket around my shoulders tightly against the frigid winter air. I'm not really sure how long I've been out on my apartment's tiny balcony, drinking and smoking, but it's long enough that my fingers have turned slightly blue. I don't mind it though, at least it makes me feel, even if it is just the pain from the cold.

Feeling is not something I've done a lot of lately. Mostly, I walk around in a zombie-like trance, simply going through the motions of my daily routines. I think I'm afraid to let myself feel _anything_. I'm terrified that any little emotion will break down the dam I've so carefully constructed and all of my demons will come pouring forth and drown me in their weight.

I returned to work barely two weeks after the attacks, much to the dismay of everyone around me. They just couldn't understand that I needed justice, not against Madeline, she will never answer for her crimes against me. I needed justice for other victims. Perhaps, it was justice by proxy. I don't know, all I knew is that if I didn't go back to work, I was going to die.

I pour the rest of the scotch down my throat and it burns all the way to my stomach. Noticing that my cigarette has burned down to the filter, I stub it out in the overflowing ash tray and pull another from the almost empty pack. The flame that erupts from the cheap plastic lighter illuminates my face briefly, before sending me back into the welcomed darkness.

The sound of the door sliding open causes me to jerk violently, managing to burn my fingers with the lit cigarette in the process. Dropping it in the ashtray and cursing lightly, I bring the injured digits to my mouth as the small light beside the door flares to life.

"Sorry," she says, pulling the other chair closer to me and sitting down.

Taking in her appearance, a small grin crosses my face. Her hair is sticking out in at least twenty different directions at once and she makes no effort to tame it. Flannel pajama bottoms encase her shapely legs and her old NYPD sweatshirt is faded and worn. I do so love seeing Olivia Benson like this. Raw and unguarded, completely at ease with her surroundings. It is one of the few joys left in my life. I like the fact that I see her at times that she would allow no one else to view.

"How long have you been out here," she asks while staring at the ash tray and empty tumbler disdainfully.

"A while."

She picks up the glass and sniffs it and a cringe decorates her beautiful face, before she sets it down and stares at me intently.

"Little early for scotch isn't Casey?"

She doesn't like that I drink. More precisely, she doesn't like that I drink much more than I should. Social drinking, she herself is guilty of. But drinking all by yourself, at five in the morning? That doesn't really fall under normal alcohol consumption and I know it.

I ignore her question because I have no answers for her. None that she would accept anyway. Her memories of her mother's alcoholism and all the pain that she caused because of it are a constant companion for her and I wonder if she think's that I have a problem. Because I don't. I don't need the alcohol, I just want it . . . there's a difference isn't there?

"Still up for apartment hunting today," I ask, changing the subject.

I really can't bare staying here any longer, it reminds me too much of what happened. I still have trouble walking through my front door into a darkened apartment. Lately, we've left the lights on and though it's hell on the electric bill, it affords me a little more piece of mind. She still keeps her small walk-up, but she basically lives with me. Most of her things have migrated to my apartment and we haven't spent a night apart in two months. I would say that qualifies as cohabitation.

"Uh huh. Any ideas on what you want?"

I think about it for a moment.

"Door man, security system, two bedrooms, and no fire escapes." Sounds reasonable enough to me.

Her face curves into a breath taking smile and she leans in close to kiss me. I freeze for an instant, my heart pounding in fear. Disgusted with my involuntary reaction, I pray that she didn't notice and return the gentle kiss. She's so careful with me, like she thinks I'm going to break. Maybe she's right, perhaps I will break if pushed too hard . . . I'm just not sure anymore.

"I just can't get used to that," she says, pulling back.

"What?" I stare at her in genuine confusion.

"The cigarette taste."

"Oh. Sorry," I apologize, blushing and looking down at my hands.

"It's okay. I'll live."

She holds her hand out to me and I take it, allowing her to pull me into a standing position.

"You're hands are freezing Casey. Let's go take a hot shower and warm you up."

It's funny, we take showers together and sleep in the same bed night after night, yet we still haven't made love. I know I'm not ready. So, I haven't asked and she hasn't pushed. It's just something I'm not ready to deal with yet. It's kind of an unspoken agreement between the two of us. When I'm ready, she knows that I'll let her know. Until then it's something she doesn't even bring up.

We really are an ironic pair. A child of rape who hunts rapists and a victim of rape who prosecutes them. Between the two of us, we have enough issues to keep an entire team of psychoanalysts busy for years.

The hot shower warms my skin but does nothing to alleviate the coldness that has seeped into my being and set up residence. Madeline died in that apartment, but I'm not completely certain that she didn't take my soul with her.

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 2**

"Do you want to get some lunch?"

No, I really don't. My appetite is nearly non-existent and I know that I've lost weight. Suits and clothing that used to fit my body perfectly now hang on my slim frame loosely. If I lose much more, I'm going to have to go shopping for a new wardrobe and that's not a thought that appeals to me at all.

It's not really that I don't have the money to do it, I do. The small trust that my grandparents set up for me as a child provides me with a comfortable financial safety net. I think, in reality, it has more to do with denial. Buying new clothing is an admission that I've lost a lot of weight and generally I tend to react to things like an ostrich. I like to stick my head in the sand and pretend that nothing's wrong, despite the fact that all hell's braking loose around me.

"Sure, what do you want," I ask, fully aware that Olivia will badger me until I agree.

"Anything's fine, whatever you want."

I give her a look that conveys that I'm really not in the mood to play this game.

"What about Dominic's? It's just around the corner," she says, catching and understanding my nonverbal communication immediately.

I'll have to admit, she is perceptive. It's one of the many things I love about her. She has the cosmic ability to catch the smallest hint and react appropriately. Maybe it comes from her years as a cop. I really don't know, but I am thankful for it.

"Fine with me."

I give her my best smile, attempting to convey that I really am fine. Perhaps if I say it enough, it will be true. I can always hope, right?

I follow Olivia around the corner and into Dominic's, a small Italian restaurant that we visit so often that the staff knows us by name.

"Casey . . . Olivia . . . imagine seeing you two here."

Dominic, the owner and name sake of the restaurant, smiles from his position by the host's podium. His short stature never ceases to offer me a source of amusement. He's barely 5'5" and I tower over the man by at least five inches. Sometimes more, if I have heels on. We regularly tease each other about our respective heights.

"Hey Dom, how's business," I ask politely.

"Same as always Casey," he answers, chuckling lightly.

"You two lovely ladies want your usual table?"

"Sounds good."

Olivia grins at me as the energetic little man grabs our menus and starts off towards the corner table at the very back of the restaurant. The atmosphere of the restaurant is clearly geared towards romance. Most of the tables are made for two and flickering candles illuminate the exposed brick walls in complex patterns of dancing light. The white table cloths are always impeccable and it adds a certain charming simplicity to the overall feeling of the restaurant that's quite inviting.

Allowing Dominic to pull my chair out for me, something that took a couple of times to get used to, I offer the man a genuine smile as I take my seat. He does the same for Olivia and then lays the menus on the table for us to look at.

"You're waiter will be right over," he says, winking at us before he heads off, back towards the front.

I open my menu and peruse the selections, not finding one that sounds even remotely appetizing. Sighing, I look to Olivia, who's already lain her menu down and is currently staring at me expectantly.

"Well," she asks, raising an eyebrow.

I glance at the menu and pick the first vegetarian item that jumps out at me.

"I think I'll have eggplant parmigiana," I say, keeping my eyes on the menu, "you?"

"Chicken Marsala."

The waiter chose that moment to appear and I smile up at the man gratefully, thankful for the distraction. The conversation between Olivia and I was quickly heading towards awkwardness. We place our orders and as he turns to leave, I suddenly feel the desire for a drink.

"Oh, could I have a glass of the house wine as well," I say as an afterthought.

"Sure thing." With that, the man was off, leaving us back to our awkwardness.

I ignore the look from across the table. I really don't drink as much as she seems to think I do. Sighing, I chalk it up to her overprotective nature and move on.

"Did you see any apartments you liked this morning," Olivia asks nonchalantly.

I mentally go through the apartments we'd looked at, weighing each of their merits and disadvantages. There was really only one that met all my requirements, but it was a little bigger than what I'd originally wanted.

"The last one is really the only one, but I don't really need that much space."

I look to her hopefully, mentally willing her to tell me that she'll get rid of her apartment and move in with me completely. She basically lives with me now, but there's still something missing. I would love to be able to call the apartment _our_ home. Right now, it qualifies more as my apartment with an extended house guest.

"That is unless you want to get rid of your place and move in with me," I ask in a teasing tone.

That way, if she says no, I can always play it off as a joke.

"I basically live with you now counselor," she retorts, grinning.

"You could always make it official," I say quietly, the teasing tone all but gone.

She takes my hand from across the table and stares intently into my eyes.

"Is that really what you want Casey?" Her voice holds an edge of hopefulness that sends relief cascading throughout my body.

"Yes, I want that more than anything Olivia."

"Well then, I guess we'd better go by and sign the lease on _our_ new place after lunch then."

I barely resist the urge to jump across the table and kiss her. Instead, I simply squeeze her hand and smile. It feels nice to genuinely smile again, I haven't had much reason to lately. When I have, it was usually precipitated by Olivia. My love for this woman causes my chest to tighten and though I find that terrifying, I know without a doubt that it is also my saving grace.

Our waiter returns and deposits our lunch on the table, along with my glass of wine. I find the smell of the food sickening and I attempt to cover it by taking a sip of wine. The food on my plate beckons and I feel the weight of Olivia's stare. Picking up my fork, I cut away a small piece and put it in my mouth, chewing slowly.

"How is it," she asks, between bites of her own lunch.

I smile and nod, not quite trusting myself to speak.

I hate this. I just want my life back. I want to enjoy my food again and be able to look at the sunrise without dread. I want to lay down and sleep through the night without reliving the rape in every excruciating detail. Sleeping more than a couple hours at a time really isn't too much to ask is it?

"You know Casey, you can push that food around on your plate as long as you want and it's still not going to go away."

I sigh shakily, on the verge of tears, and drop my fork beside my uneaten lunch.

"I . . . don't know what's wrong with me. I can't eat, I can't sleep . . . "

"Sweetie, it's only been two months. It's going to take time," she says, once again capturing my hands in her own.

Time heals all wounds, is that it Olivia? No offense, but I think that's bullshit. I can't even begin to imagine time healing the gaping wound that sometimes hurts so much, I wonder why it can't be seen. How can something that's not even real, physically hurt so much?

I get up from the table and leave the restaurant, so desperate for fresh air that I feel I'll suffocate if I don't have it. Once out on the street, I take a gulping breath of cold air that burns my lungs, but I barely notice it. Tears run down my cheeks and the looks from the people on the street make me rub them away in annoyance. Lighting a cigarette from the pack in my coat pocket, I lean against the rough brick wall in front of the restaurant.

Olivia comes bursting through the door moments later and I watch while she looks around in an attempt to locate me.

"I'm over here," I call out to her, exhaling a long stream of bluish smoke.

She turns towards me and the tension present on her face melts flawlessly to relief.

"Casey, I'm sorry if I said something to upset you," she starts as she walks towards me.

"You didn't, I just needed air . . ." I drop the cigarette and crush it out under my boot.

Bringing her hand to my face, she traces my cheek bone with her thumb and leans in to pull me into a crushing hug that surrounds me and eases some of my turmoil.

"I love you," I say, so quietly that it's practically a whisper.

Her eyes burn bright with love and I know that she loves me too without her having to say the words.

"I love you too."

She kisses me, slowly and gently and I know that we are drawing stares from the people around us. Neither of us pull away, let them stare.

The kiss ends, leaving us both breathless in it's wake.

"Now, let's go sign that lease on our new home," she says, smiling and holding her hand out to me.

I take it and smile back, thankful for this wonderful woman that for some reason loves me as much as I love her.

**

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**

**Chapter 3**

The apartment's large living area is practically stacked to the ceiling with boxes and not even the dread of unpacking them is dampening my good mood. I was so thrilled when Casey ask me to get rid of my apartment and move in with her 'officially' that I quickly organized the squad into a impromptu moving service, much to their dismay.

"Where do you want this Liv," Elliot asks breathlessly from the doorway.

"Oh, um . . . put it in the bedroom."

I feel her presence behind me even before she slides long arms around my waist.

"Everything under control General Benson," she asks as her chin finds my shoulder.

I laugh at her gentle jibe and mentally thank God that some of her infamous sarcasm is returning. Leaning my head against hers, I grin widely, unable to control my happiness. I honestly don't remember the last time anyone has made me this happy without even really trying.

"Ugh . . . you two get a room." The slight grin turning the corners of John's mouth upwards betrays his acidly sarcastic tone.

"You know your skinny ass loves it," Fin says, grinning and making an appearance shortly behind his partner.

I'm not sure who's face turned redder, mine or Casey's, but it was a close race. Both of us know that neither of them mean anything by it. In fact, if Fin and John didn't pick on us, then I'd start to get worried. Casey squeezes my waist before letting go and heading out the door, presumably to get another load of boxes, and I regret the loss of contact.

"In your dreams boys," I tease, enjoying the easy banter between us.

"If only you could see my dreams Olivia," John replies, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

For the second time in less than ten minutes my face blushes a bright scarlet. I should know better than to get into a battle of the wits with John Munch. I never win. You would think I would have learned my lesson by now.

Elliot walks out of the bedroom and looks between me and John, before breaking into a wicked grin.

"You messing with my women Munch?" His voice is rife with mock intimidation.

"Wouldn't dream of it Elliot," he says, rather non-convincingly.

"Uh huh."

"Hey, a man's gotta have some fun in exchange for forced servitude," John remarks.

We all laugh, enjoying the light-hearted atmosphere, each of us knowing that we should take it when we can get it. John and Fin leave the apartment, still chuckling and joking between themselves and it makes me realize how lucky Casey and I are to have such great friends.

Elliot shuffles up beside me and I turn to look at him. The playful look in his eyes is gone, replaced by a much more serious gaze.

"Hey Liv, can I ask you something," he starts quietly, though no one else is in the apartment.

I nod and wait for his question.

"Is she really okay?"

Damn, he couldn't have asked a harder question. Mainly because the answer is that I really don't know. Some days, I think she is and then others . . . I'm not so sure. I mean, nightmares are to be expected, but they seem to be getting worse with the passage of time. She's lost weight, she's smoking again, and drinking much more than I think she should. Perhaps, that last part is just me though. My mother's affliction has made me ultra sensitive to that and I'm trying my best not to overreact.

Despite all of that, there are some days where I see flashes of the old Casey in those beautiful green eyes. Those momentary flashes give me hope. I know there's a lot that she's not telling me. I'm not sure how I know, I just do. But, it's something that she can only tell me when she's ready. Until then, all I can do is be there for her and be prepared to listen if and when she's ready to talk.

I sigh and look down at my sneakers, suddenly fascinated by the brightly colored footwear.

"I really don't know Elliot. I mean, I think she's doing as well as can be expected . . ." I start, hesitant to reveal too much, even to my best friend.

"I notice that she picked up smoking again," he says, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, but if that's the worst of what she picks up. I'll live with it."

He nods his head in agreement, staying silent for a moment. I hear his breath catch and I know he wants to ask more. I watch the emotions play out on his face, while he tries to find the words.

"She's lost weight," he finally says simply.

I'm not sure if that's a question or a statement, but either way he's right. She has. Too much for my taste and I've tried to monitor what she is . . . or isn't . . . eating. It's hard though, I'm not with her 24 hours a day. She tells me she's eating, but her thin frame is saying differently. However, it basically comes down to the fact that she is an adult, not a child. I can't force her to eat.

"I know." I don't know what else to say.

"I wish I could have killed that bitch myself, Liv."

"You and me both, Elliot."

We each know that the other is deadly serious. I would have killed Madeline without hesitation, given the chance and I know Elliot would have done the same. A huge chunk of me wishes that I had been the one to shoot her, not Casey. I've killed before in self-defense and defense of others. I can deal with it. But the first time, God the first time you pull that trigger is the worst. It's not fair that she has to deal with that too, on top of everything else.

Casey walks in at that moment, carrying a load of boxes way too heavy for her and I rush to help.

"Here honey, let me help," I say, snatching a couple of boxes off the top of the stack before she can respond.

She sets the boxes down and stares between Elliot and I intently. We both look back innocently. Somehow she knows that we've been talking about her. Damned perceptive lawyers. I think they teach them in law school how to sense any little bit of uncomfortableness and then dive in for the kill. I make a mental note to ask her if they had a class at Harvard geared towards that.

I smile feebly at her, fully aware that I'm probably going to get an earful when the guys leave. Her eyes darken in anger for a moment before she visibly pushes it away and returns my smile.

Fin and John walk in with the last load of boxes and after relieving themselves of their load they stare at us all, sensing the uncomfortable situation they've walked in to.

"Well, that's it. I think it's time for us to get out of here. Right guys?" Elliot looks to them and both nod their heads, readily agreeing.

After a round of goodbyes and hugs, I find myself alone with her and I wince as the anger in her eyes flares back to life.

"What were you and Elliot talking about Olivia," she asks, her eyes never leaving my face.

"He just asked how you were, no big deal sweetie." I try and keep it simple.

Casey's eyes are ablaze with suspicion as she gazes at my face intently, searching it for any sign that I'm not telling her the truth.

"I told him that you were doing as well as can be expected and left it at that." There's no need for me to tell her every piece of the conversation.

I cross the space between us and take her into my arms, loathing how fragile she feels in my grasp. She freezes for a moment and I expect her to pull away, but she doesn't. After a moment, she collapses into my embrace and buries her face in the bend between my shoulder and neck. We stand there for awhile, just enjoying the feeling of intimacy between us.

"I'm sorry," she says without moving from her position.

"I just don't want people to feel sorry for me I guess . . . I don't know."

I push her away a little, so that I can look her in the eyes, but my hands never leave her body. The sadness I find in her eyes is absolutely gut-wrenching.

"Baby, everyone just wants to make sure you're okay. Nobody is feeling sorry for you Casey."

A tiny saddened smile graces her beautiful face and it nearly breaks my heart. I swear to God or anyone else who's listening, if I could get my hands on that bitch I'd kill her a thousand times over for taking away that vibrance that Casey used to exude everywhere she went. The explosion of rage that rips through my body scares me and I'm left feeling helpless and weak in the face of it's intensity.

My blood rushes in my ears and I take a few deep breathes as I try and calm myself back down. She doesn't need to see me upset. I have to be the strong one. I have to be strong for her.

"You okay, Olivia?"

"Yeah, sweetie . . . I'm fine," I smile widely just to emphasize how 'fine' I am.

She looks skeptical, but seems to accept my answer.

"Come on, it's late and we both have to work tomorrow. Let's go lay down, Elliot put the bed together for us," I say, taking her hand and leading her towards the bedroom.

A little while later, each of us are curled under the down comforter, wrapped in each other's arms and close to slumber. My eyelids are heavy and it feels like I have sand in my eyes. I feel sleep calling forcefully and I spare one final glance at her before I allow it to take me. She's sleeping peacefully, the lights from the city outside revealing her relaxed face as she snores lightly. Smiling, I stop fighting it and enter willingly into the realm of dreams.

"NO! Don't do this. Don't touch me!"

Hours later her screams awaken me abruptly and I turn to find her on the far side of the bed, thrashing against an imaginary foe.

"Please . . . oh God, please stop. . . ."

Tears run unabashedly down her pale cheeks as she sobs in her sleep, obviously reliving the violation in her mind.

"Casey," I call out to her, trying to avoid startling her awake.

Her guttural screams echo off the apartment walls, any words long since stolen by terror.

"CASEY!"

She doesn't respond to my voice, so I move closer, careful to avoid her thrashing limbs. I lay my hand gently on her shoulder and shake her a bit. She recoils from me violently, whimpering in either pain or terror . . . I'm not sure which.

Jesus, what did she do to you?

"Come on Casey, baby wake up . . . it's just me . . . it's Olivia."

I move closer again, ignoring the blows to my arms and shoulders that subconsciously I know will leave bruises. Grabbing her shoulders firmly, I shake her, determined to pull her out of whatever hell she is in.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, her eyes fly open, wide with fear. She stares at me, uncomprehending and it takes a while for recognition to enter her eyes. Her breathing is terrifying me and I fight to keep the worry off of my face.

"I . . . .can't . . . .breath . . . .," she gasps, wheezing. Her breathing is shallow and I can see how much she is fighting for each single breath.

"Shhhhhh, calm down Casey. Breathe slowly, stop fighting it sweetie," I murmur softly, smoothing her sweat soaked hair away from her face.

"Can't . . ."

Her lips are starting to turn slightly blue and my heart pounds against my rib cage. God, think Olivia! You know what to do dammit, you've talked to George. Out of desperation, I pull her up into a sitting position against my chest.

"Listen to my breathing! Breathe with me Casey."

After a few more terrifying moments, her breathing begins to return to normal and I let out a sigh of relief. I continue to rock her back and forth, stroking her hair and calmly telling her that it's going to be alright. She allows me to hold her for awhile before pulling away and wiping at the tears on her face.

"I'm okay now," she says shakily and I watch her walls slam back into place.

I wish she'd just let me in. I can't help her if she won't let me.

"You go back to sleep baby. I'm gonna go watch some tv okay?"

I open my mouth to argue, but I know it won't do any good. She's made up her mind.

"Okay, try and come back to bed soon," I say, though I know she won't.

"I'll try," she answers and with a quick insincere smile, she's gone.

I lay in the empty bed, listening to her move around in our new apartment, wishing I knew what to do. The tears that run down my face surprise me and I bite my lip to in an attempt to avoid the small sob that try's to follow.

I don't think either of us will be going back to sleep tonight.

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**Barren**

**Disclaimer**: Don't own them, though I wish I did.

**Pairing**: Casey/Olivia established relationship.

**Warnings**: Femslash. It also deals with the aftermath of rape, so it's not a happy piece folks.

**Chapter 4**

_Fingernails drag painfully up my exposed thigh, leaving_ _swollen, bleeding trails in their wake._

"No! Don't do this. Don't touch me!"

_Her teeth sink into my shoulder, drawing blood._

"Please . . . oh God, please stop . . ."

_She doesn't. She just laughs at my pleas and continues her assault. The pain is overwhelming and I had no idea that a woman could make it hurt like this. I'm screaming now, raw and guttural, my throat aching due to the exertion._

I'm abruptly jerked out of my inner hell by someone shaking me roughly. For a few terrifying moments, I don't recognize the woman above me and I think it may be Madeline. But, no it can't be . . . Madeline is dead. Finally my brain kicks in and Olivia's face is made clear to me along with the unsettling fact that I can't breath.

"I . . . can't . . . breath . . ."

My chest is burning, begging for the oxygen that it's being denied and I struggle to draw the air in.

"Shhhh, calm down Casey. Breathe slowly, don't fight it."

Somehow, in the midst of my panic, I hear Olivia's soothing murmurs and I try to focus on her voice. My vision is blurring and I'm starting to get light-headed. I barely register Olivia's touch as she smooths my hair back from my face.

"Can't . . ."

God, I think I'm going to pass out.

Olivia pulls me up against her chest.

"Listen to my breathing! Breathe with me Casey." Her voice is forceful, but it contains a slight edge of panic.

I focus on her rapid heartbeat, echoing in my ear, and it serves to relieve some of the anxiety crushing my chest. Concentrating on breathing along with her occupies my mind enough to begin to alleviate the panic attack. Tears run down my face and I pull away from Olivia, annoyed, and wipe them away.

"I'm okay now." I just really want to forget this happened. Please don't make me talk about it.

I watch her face register the disappointment of my abrupt change in demeanor and I almost tell her that I remember everything . . . almost.

"You go back to bed baby. I'm gonna go watch some tv okay," I say, attempting to keep the shakiness out of my voice.

For a moment, she looks like she wants to argue. But she doesn't.

"Okay, try and come back to bed soon," she says though I can see that she doesn't think I will. She's right, I won't be sleeping anymore tonight.

"I'll try," I lie.

I smile at her, a faked, pathetic mockery of a smile . . . but a smile none-the-less.

I quickly leave the room before she can say anything else, the desire to be alone overwhelming. I need to get away from her ever-vigilant gaze before she sees through my charade.

My thigh and side are burning with pain, though there are no wounds there. Not anymore at least. I hesitantly raise my shirt and trace the faint pinkish scars on my side. Four identical slashes work their way down my left side and onto my abdomen, left by Madeline's nails. Four more slashes adorn the inside of my right thigh.

Olivia won't even look at them. She averts her eyes and practically pretends like they aren't there. I wonder what's going through her mind when she does that. Do they disgust her? Part of me knows that's not true, even as I think it. She would never think like that. In my mind I see them as brands . . . symbols of Madeline's ownership. Perhaps, when she put them there, that's what she intended them to be. Perhaps in a way, even from the grave, Madeline Forbes still owns me.

I tense my jaws, grinding my teeth together, determined not to cry again. I have shed way too many tears because of her and each time I cry I feel as if she's won a little more control over my life.

Disgusted with myself, I look at the clock and see that it's just after 4 AM. I should go ahead and go to work. I have closing arguments on a big trial today and I could use the extra time to prepare. If I had my choice, I would pour myself a glass of scotch and drink until I dull the pain away. But I don't have that option, not this morning. Sighing, I head to the extra bathroom to take a shower.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

As I finish up my closing argument I try and ignore the glare I'm receiving from the defendant, a particularly nasty specimen of humanity that raped and nearly beat a woman to death. Despite the weight of his gaze and the turmoil in my mind, I manage to stroll arrogantly back to the prosecution table projecting absolute control.

Just before I sit down, I look out into the assembled audience and see Elliot seated a couple of rows back. I wink at him, indicating that the verdict is in the bag, so to speak and take my seat. The evidence against the defendant is overwhelming and I ripped him apart on cross. Basically, it was an easy win.

The defense counsel for the defendant starts his closing and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Mommy didn't love me, Daddy used to beat me, I couldn't help myself . . . Jesus, get a new excuse already. Disgusted with the man's rambling argument, I zone out and start doodling on my legal pad. Discretely of course, wouldn't want to get chastised in open court.

He finishes and I resume listening as Judge Petrovsky addresses the jury briefly.

"Court is adjourned while the jury deliberates," she announces, banging her gavel loudly.

I cram my things in my briefcase and walk towards my girlfriends partner, a smile on my face.

"He's toast Elliot," I say as I approach him.

"Nice job counselor."

"Hey, you guys did most of the work. I just presented the evidence."

He smiles and accepts the compliment.

"Did Olivia ever get a hold of you?"

"Yeah, she called to wish me luck."

I'd left the apartment this morning without saying goodbye and I could tell by our phone conversation that it had hurt her feelings. She played it off like it was fine, but I apologized anyways.

"I think she was a little worried about you," he says as we begin to walk out of the courtroom.

My face flushes pink and I look down at my shoes, wondering just how much Olivia actually tells him.

"I know she was."

We walk in silence for a few moments, both of us a little uncomfortable with the conversation.

"You think they'll be in there long," Elliot asks and I sense that he's just trying to fill the agonizing silence that's fallen between us.

"Fifteen minutes tops."

I know that sounds arrogant, but I've been a prosecutor long enough to know when I have a case won and this one was a slam dunk.

"Fifteen minutes! Not gonna happen Case."

My face breaks into a predatory grin.

"Wanna bet?"

"I got twenty bucks that says it'll take longer," he replies, grinning playfully.

"You're on Stabler."

We sit on a bench outside the courtroom joking back and forth and generally making small talk for the next little while. The door opens to the courtroom and the bailiff emerges and walks towards us.

"Ms. Novak, the jury's back."

I look down at my wrist watch. Thirteen and a half minutes. Smiling, I turn and hold my hand out.

"Pay up."

Sighing loudly, he slaps a crisp twenty dollar bill in my hand.

"Pleasure doing business with you Detective."

"You cheated," he says, sounding vaguely like a sullen child.

I look at him, my face radiating innocence.

"You're just a sore loser."

We laugh, enjoying the stress relief and walk back into the courtroom to take our seats. The dirtbag is already seated and when he notices me, he resumes his glaring. At first, it was just annoying. Now, it's really starting to bother me.

"All rise for the Honorable Judge Lena Petrovsky," the Bailiff barks out from the front of the courtroom

Everyone stands as the petite redheaded Judge enters and takes her seat behind the bench.

"Be seated," she says, turning to accept the folded sheet of paper containing the verdict.

Opening it, she manages to keep her face expressionless as she views the jury's decision. The paper is returned and she turns to the jury once more.

"Madam Foreperson, has the jury reached a decision?"

The middle-aged woman stands and unfolds the paper.

"We have your Honor."

"Very well, what is your verdict?"

"On the count of attempted murder, we the jury find the defendant guilty. On the count of rape in the first degree, we the jury find the defendant guilty."

I break into a smile, enjoying the rush that winning still gives me, even after all this time.

"Fucking bitch," the defendant roars and I look up just in time to see him break away from the bailiffs and start running towards me at full speed.

I freeze in fear, unsure what to do, and in seconds he's standing right in front of me. I hear people screaming around me, but I am focused only on the man currently reaching out for me. He grabs the front of my suit and lifts me until only the tips of my toes touch the floor.

"I'm going to make you wish you'd never laid eyes on my when I get out of prison bitch." His face is inches from my own and his acrid breath is making me slightly nauseous.

The whole thing lasts less than a minute before the bailiffs are there pulling at the man and screaming for him to let go of me. He finally does and I fall backwards, landing hard on my backside. I watch in shock as the bailiffs drag the still screaming man from the room.

I feel a familiar tightness in my chest and I quickly push myself up off of the ground. Gathering my briefcase, I run from the chaotic courtroom. I know what's coming and I have no intentions of having a panic attack in front of the entire court. Elliot is yelling after me, but I ignore him and keep running without looking back.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

My desk phone flares to life and I pick it up on the first ring. I've been expecting a call about the Larson verdict for over half an hour now. Normally, I'd be in court watching my favorite ADA kick ass, but I had some things to follow up on this morning and Elliot went on alone.

"Benson."

"_Liv, it's Elliot_."

His tone immediately alerts me that something is wrong.

"What's going on," I ask.

"_That bastard Larson jumped Casey in court after the verdict was read. He didn't hurt her, but she looked pretty shaken up."_

A familiar rage crashes over me and my blood practically boils. I immediately shift into protective mode.

"I'll be right there."

"_I don't know where she went Olivia, she just ran out of the courtroom before I could get to her. I've tried her cell phone several times, but she won't answer it."_

Damn, she could be anywhere by now.

"Can you check her office for me? I'll check the apartment and a couple of other places I know of."

"_Sure, I'll call if I find anything._"

"Thanks Elliot," I reply, as I grab my coat and head out of the precinct.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Several hours later, I find myself setting on the couch in an empty apartment, still absolutely clueless as to Casey's whereabouts. It's gotten late and I'm really starting to get worried about her. At first, I figured she just needed some time alone. I didn't think she'd be gone near this long.

Elliot and I checked every place we could think of, no one had seen or spoken to Casey since the incident.

My cell rings and I pull it out excitedly, hoping that it's her. I don't recognize the number, and disappointment runs rampant as I answer the phone.

"Benson."

"_Olivia, it's Serena_," the caller speaks loudly over the loud music in the background, "_I really think you should come pick Casey up._"

Thank God.

"Where?"

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 5**

The pounding bass in the club provided a welcomed distraction to my angst-ridden thoughts. I don't know what made me come in here. I never go to dance clubs. I was out walking after the excitement in court today and the loud music emanating from the club drew me to it's doors like a moth to a flame.

Not even a single bruise decorates my body after the defendants little outburst, but internally I'm raw and bleeding. I don't think I can do this anymore. Zergin, Madeline, what happened today; they're all compounding the insecurities and fears that were already present in my mind.

I haven't told anyone yet, but I've already talked to Mary Conway-Clark about joining the firm she works for as a corporate attorney. I'd be going back to my comfort zone, white collar. Sure, I'll be on the other side of the issue. But with what I know about prosecuting white collar crimes, I could rip any prosecutor they put in front of me into teeny little shreds. Plus, the salary they're offering me is ridiculous. It trumps what I make at the DA's office several times over. Wonder if Olivia wants to be a kept woman?

The mental image of Olivia buying clothing with a personal shopper at Saks makes me grin as I take another sip of my drink. I think I'm on my fifth vodka tonic, but I'm not sure. The pain's still there, hanging on in the periphery of my mind. So, obviously I'm not drunk enough yet.

"Wanna dance?"

I glance over at the young women, taking in the butch appearance. Her hair is bleached blonde and cut short. The tight jeans and t-shirt she's wearing are tomboyish, but they still hug her curves and make it very clear that she's all woman. She's extremely pretty, if you like the butch look, which I don't. Olivia is as butch as I get.

I start to tell her no, but before I can get it out she interrupts.

"It's just a dance. I'm not asking you to run away to Vegas with me." Her teasing grin makes her look even younger.

I reconsider her proposal. Hell, I'm just drunk enough to dance tonight and like she said, it's just a dance.

"Sure," I hear myself say, smiling and following her out onto the crowded floor.

I haven't danced like this since college. Believe it or not, I'm actually good at it. Especially when I have just enough liquid courage in me to quash those final nasty little inhibitions.

"You don't look like you belong here," she whispers in my ear from her position at my back.

What gave it away? The business suit or the way I've continuously slapped down every woman who's dared to talk to me? I consider my answer as our bodies sway in unison to the up tempo dance beat.

"I don't," I answer simply.

I just want to forget Assistant District Attorney Casey Novak for a little while. Her life is too complicated and painful. Here in the blissfully dim lights and pounding bass lines I'm nobody. Just another face in the crowd, trying to forget.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

I stand and stare at the brightly lit facade of the dance club in utter and complete shock.

When Serena told me where I needed to pick Casey up, I nearly fell off the couch. Rave is one of those way too big, way too loud dance clubs frequented by young twenty-something's and college students. Twenty-nine year old successful attorney's don't come to places like this. Then again, Serena is here so . . . who knows, maybe they do. All I know for sure is that Casey doesn't come to places like this and that's what's got me so worried about the whole thing.

I enter the club, my ears already practically bleeding from the music, and scan the crowd at the bar for Serena Southerlyn. Finally spotting the blonde former ADA, right where she said she'd be, I make my way through the crowd towards her.

"Serena! Hey! Serena," I yell, trying to get her attention.

Finally she turns and spots me, giving me a relieved smile.

"Where is she," I ask.

"Um . . .uh . . ."

She sputters a few more syllables before finally pointing and gazing towards the dance floor. I follow her gaze and what I see gives me the second big shock of the night.

My normally somewhat uptight and proper girlfriend is dancing away in the midst of a small crowd of females that seem to have flocked around her. Damn, she can dance . . . who knew? I stand and admire the way she's moving her body for a couple of moments, before I push it away and jealousy sinks in.

I start towards her, only to be stopped by Serena's hand on my arm. I look down at it disdainfully, a little peeved that she stopped me.

"Olivia, she's hurting. Don't let her push you away," she pauses a moment, "I've known her since she started at the DA's office, she's a good woman."

I allow Serena's words to sink in. I'm not sure what she thinks I'm planning to do. I could never leave Casey . . . she's become as necessary to my existence as oxygen. If she wants me gone, she's going to have to do it herself, because I'll never be the one to walk away.

I nod, communicating that I understand what she's saying and she drops my arm. Resuming my original track towards Casey, I watch her dance and my jealousy continues to build. At some point, she's shed the blazer that goes with her suit and the crisp black shirt that she wore underneath is now untucked and rumpled. After considerable effort, I am finally able to push my way through the writhing bodies on the dance floor to stand near her. Her eyes are closed and she's completely oblivious to my presence.

"Casey," I yell, drawing strange looks from the other dancers.

She opens her eyes and looks at me, the shame of being caught barely concealed in those misty green orbs.

"Olivia . . . what are you doing here," she asks, her voice slurred by the alcohol.

"You're drunk Casey, I'm here to take you home." My voice reflects the fatigue that has seeped into my soul.

"I'm not ready to leave yet."

The first tendrils of anger snake their way through my body. I think this is the first time I've ever been truly angry with her.

"I don't care if you're ready or not. We're leaving," I say sharply and regret it almost as soon as it leaves my mouth.

Hurt blooms, evident on her face and I immediately kick myself for being so cross with her.

"Look lady, she said she didn't want to go anywhere with you."

The voice draws my gaze and for the first time I really look at the woman who'd been dancing so closely with my girlfriend. My, my . . . aren't you just the epitome of butchdom. I manage to refocus my anger at the unsuspecting woman.

"I don't know who you are and I really don't care," I start as I work my gold shield out of my pocket and hold it at my side where Casey can't see.

"But, I can guarantee you that I'm not someone you want to mess with. So, if you'll just kindly back up and mind your own fucking business, I'll forget that I just watched you cop a feel of my girlfriend's ass."

The venom in my voice, coupled with the NYPD badge being shown to her, makes the young woman back away and leave Casey and I to our conversation.

I turn back to a very inebriated Casey and she rolls her eyes at me and stalks off the dance floor. I follow behind her as closely as I can and she leads me out of the club and onto the street outside.

"What the hell was that," she yells, the moment we get on the sidewalk.

I see the people around us suddenly begin to pay attention to us, expecting entertainment I suppose. Pulling Casey further down the street, where there are fewer people, I try and tamp down the anger that her words have only increased.

"Listen, I know you're upset. . ." I'm actually proud of myself for keeping my voice so neutral.

"UPSET?! What would you know about it Olivia?? Huh?!"

Her words hit me like a slap in the face and I realize that she's right. I've never been a victim, so I don't know what she's going through. I really have no idea how I'd react if I were in her place. I've counseled hundreds of victims, my own mother is a rape victim. But, I've never been in a position where so much of my control is taken and I'm at the mercy of another person. It must be a terrifying violation.

My silence is an admission of my inability to understand her pain.

"That's right, you know absolutely nothing about it. So don't talk to me about being _upset_," she says loudly, before turning to walk even further down the street at a brisk pace.

I chase after her, determined not to let her shut me out this time.

"Casey, stop . . .," I call out, but she doesn't stop.

"Please . . ." The plea is raw and laced with the desperation I feel in my heart.

She finally does stop, but she doesn't turn around. I walk around her, so that I can face her once more.

"I'm sorry Casey. I don't know what you are going through, but I still want to be there for you. If you don't let someone in, the pain is never going to get any better. . . that much I do know."

I watch her face soften as tears begin to spill from her eyes.

"It's hurts Olivia . . . here," she says, placing her hand over her chest, "and I don't know how to stop it."

The pain so evident in that statement causes tears to fall from my own eyes. Gathering her in my arms, I silently wish that I could take the pain for her. I would, in a heartbeat. I would experience everything Madeline put her through a hundred times, if it would take away her pain.

"We'll get through it together," I whisper against her ear.

Her body shakes violently for a moment, before she reigns it back in.

"I can't do this here, let's go home."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

We walk into the apartment after a long, mostly silent cab ride. For some reason, tonight I don't have the strength to rebuild my walls. I turn to Olivia and stare at her for a moment.

"I remember."

Her eyes grow wide for a moment and I watch as understanding sinks in.

"Everything," she asks, closing her eyes and tensing her jaw so tightly that it looks painful.

"Everything."

Tears spill over her tan cheeks as she sits on the couch. I sit beside her and wait for her to say something.

"Why didn't you tell me." Her voice is so quiet that I barely hear her.

"Because I didn't want to talk about it . . . I still don't."

I really don't want to talk about it, but I need her to understand. The look on her face tells me that she's not going to drop it that easily.

"Did it happen more than once," she asks and the darkness in her voice frightens me a little.

Thank God for vodka, because frankly, it's the only reason I'm still talking.

"No, but she was going to," I can barely bring myself to even say the word, " . . . rape me again when I shot her."

She stares at me for a long while, her tears making wet trails down her cheeks, before she pulls me against her. As I lean into her all encompassing embrace, my body once again begins to shake and this time I don't push the tears begging for release away. The first sobs rack my slim frame and their violent intensity surprise me.

The tears are oddly cathartic and I feel some of the ever present pain in my chest subside as I cry unabashedly in her arms. My sobs are so intense that they almost steal my breathe and my chest heaves, attempting to draw in more precious oxygen.

Olivia never speaks, she only holds me tightly, allowing me to release some of my pain. Her tears soak the shoulder of my shirt, but they are the only indication that she is crying. Once again, she's pulled me back from the edge of the cliff, just as I'm about to let go and fall into the darkness below.

The only problem is, God help me, I want to let go. . .

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 6**

I'm not entirely sure how long Olivia and I sat crying together. I didn't think my tears would ever stop flowing. Eventually, however, they did wane and now I am left sitting here with a pounding headache hammering violently against my skull. Of course, multiple vodka tonics probably didn't help the matter any.

I look over at Olivia, who is currently wiping away the wetness coating her cheeks, and an electric wave of desire courses through my body.The unfamiliar need takes me by surprise as it's intensity continues to grow.

Impulsively, I lean in and kiss Olivia deeply. At first I sense her confusion, but after a moment or two she gives in and moans lightly against my lips as she pulls me deeper into the kiss. We break away from each other, breathless, and I try and lean in for another kiss. She stops me, pushing me back gently and holding me in place by my shoulders.

"What are you doing Casey," she ask, her voice breathy and her eyes darkened with desire.

I really don't know what I am doing. I wasn't thinking about it, I was simply allowing myself to feel and though my mind is wary, my emotional self is screaming with desire. Perhaps, I just need to feel loved, to be cleansed of any left over traces of Madeline.

"I want," I start, "no, I _need_ you to love me."

Confusion clouds her classic features and I get the sense that she's waging some internal war with herself.

How do I make her understand that I don't feel attractive anymore? I don't feel human. Perhaps after being treated the way I was, it's to be expected, but I'm to the point that I can't take it anymore. I just need to remember what it feels like not to feel dirty. I need to remember that sex is one of the greatest parts of life, not one of the most horrifying.

"Please, Olivia. I need to remember that sex and pain are not one in the same."

I pause for a moment, allowing my words to sink in.

"Do you understand," I finally ask, desperation dripping from my words.

She thinks about it for a moment and I can practically see the gears turning in her brain.

"I think so . . . I just don't want to rush into something that you'll regret."

I just need you to take the 'kid-gloves' off and treat me like a woman Olivia. How do I make you understand that??

I close the distance between us and once again capture her lips, pouring all the desire and desperation I'm feeling into that single kiss.

"Please," I whisper against her lips as I bring my hand up to trace her cheek.

The wetness that I find there surprises me and I pull back a little, just in time to see another large tear spill over her eyelashes. I reach up and catch it with my thumb, wiping it away, before leaning in to place a light kiss on her cheek. She closes her eyes and a tiny, almost imperceptible, smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.

Without speaking, she gets up from the couch and holds her hand out to me. I take it and allow her to lead me into our bedroom. At the edge of the king-sized bed she stops for a moment, looking back at me and silently asking with her eyes if I really am ready for this. I smile, ignoring the nervousness tugging at my mind, and crawl onto the bed. She crawls on after me and our lips meet in another kiss as she lowers me down onto my back gently.

The kiss continues as Olivia runs her hand under my shirt and up my side, grazing the scars with her fingertips. I immediately freeze as she touches them and she pulls back, sensing my sudden change.

"You okay," she asks, her voice smokey and deep with desire.

Wrangling my racing heart back under control, I smile at her and nod my head. I have to do this. I _need_ to do this.

"I'm fine," I answer as I pull her hand back to my side, determined to overcome the fear begging me to run and hide.

"If you want me to stop, all you have to do is say so. Okay?"

Smiling, I answer by pulling her into another kiss. With the last bit of hesitation swept away, she comes alive, and spends the next several hours helping me do the same.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Sunrise finds us wrapped in each other's arms, still basking in the afterglow of our lovemaking. Neither of us slept last night and work today will be hell, but I don't care. We needed the escape provided last night. She was so gentle and patient with me the entire night. I scoot closer to her body and lay my head on her chest, enjoying the sound of her strong heartbeat.

"Thank you," I whisper while tracing an nondescript pattern on her abdomen.

"Why are you thanking me?"

I push myself up on my elbows so I can look at her.

"I'm thanking you for helping me to remember that there's still something worth holding on for."

She reaches out and trails the back of her hand down the side of my face, her eyes never leaving mine. I see the confusion still playing in her dark eyes, without her saying anything.

"I was ready to give up," I pause for a moment, "I wanted to give up."

"And now," she asks.

"Now . . . I feel like I've taken the first step back towards what I used to be?"

I think about it for a moment. Realistically, I know that I'm a long way away from being okay. But, tonight, I felt as close to normal as I've felt in months. I'd dreaded this moment for so long that I'd built it up into some huge milestone to be overcome. Now that I've overcome it and left it behind me a little of the weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

"You'll get there Casey, it'll just take time."

I smile at her, not really sure what to say. I guess I'm still not sure I'll get there, despite the fact I feel closer this morning than I've ever been.

"I've been thinking about leaving the DA's office," I say, out of the blue.

She sits up, shock evident on her face.

"What," she asks incredulously.

"I don't know if I can handle it anymore Olivia . . . Zergin, Madeline, what happened today, all of it."

She stares down at her lap, obviously trying to process my abrupt confession.

"What would you do," she asks, looking up at me once again.

"Mary offered me a job in their corporate law department," I answer quietly, looking down at the bed, unable to bear the disappointment in her eyes.

"It's your decision Casey."

"I know," I say, still not looking up.

I really don't know what I want to do. Could I really be happy as a corporate attorney? I mean, the perks are certainly appealing. Bigger office, endless resources, much more money; the list goes on and on. But I don't know if I could really be happy doing it. Being a prosecutor is in my blood, I thought it was part of who I am . . . now, I'm not so sure.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**Barren**

**Disclaimer**: Don't own them, though I wish I did.

**Pairing**: Casey/Olivia established relationship.

**Warnings**: Femslash. It also deals with the aftermath of rape, so it's not a happy piece folks.

**Chapter 7**

"What are you so happy about this morning?"

I look up at my partner innocently from the file I'm reading.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I reply, before looking back down at my desk in an effort to hide my obvious happiness.

"Oh come on, Benson. You've been floating around the precinct all morning with that shit-eating grin plastered on your face," he says, staring at me intently.

I stay silent for a moment, attempting to formulate a response that Elliot would be happy with without revealing too much about last night. Under normal conditions, I would tell Elliot nearly everything about my relationships. But this one is different. He knows Casey, they have to work together and the last thing I want is for them to be uncomfortable around each other.

He continues to stare at me, using that intense gaze normally reserved for suspects in the interrogation rooms. I shift uncomfortably under the weight of his gaze, understanding for the first time what it feels like to be on the other side of the table.

"Casey and I . . . talked . . . last night," I start, keeping my eyes glued on my desk, "it was nice."

I glance up momentarily to see his face. He continues to stare at me, this time with an edge of skepticism in his eyes.

"You talked and it's got you this excited," he asks, disbelief evident in his tone.

"Believe it or not Elliot, not everything is about sex, contrary to popular belief."

I look up at him, meeting his intense stare with one of my own, determined not to let him intimidate me into talking. I won't do that to her. Broadcasting it to Elliot barely a few hours later would greatly cheapen what we shared and I'm not that kind of person.

Last night was wonderful. It provided a release needed by both of us and the fact that she's lowered some of those carefully crafted walls and let me in, even if it is just a little, has me nearly bursting at the seams with elation. I was honestly beginning to wonder if she was ever going to let me try and help her. It shocked me to the core when she told me that she remembered the attack, I didn't expect that one at all. But at least now I have a better perspective on why she's dealing with it the way she is. If I understand what she went through, maybe I can actually start to help her deal with it.

"Hey, down girl. You don't have to tell me anything you're not comfortable telling me," he says with a twinkle of humor in his dark blue eyes.

I sigh, breaking down some of the shield's and spikes I'd erected in preparation for battle and smile at my best friend.

"It's just different this time, ya know? You and Casey, you see each other at work every day. I wouldn't feel right talking about certain personal aspects of our relationship, especially without her knowledge," I reply, nearly laughing out loud at the diplomatically vague speech pouring from my lips.

"It's okay, I understand."

My smile widens as I mentally thank God that Elliot is so understanding. The last thing I need is word getting back to Casey that I'm talking about anything she's telling me. It could cause her to completely shut down and shut me out once again and I don't think I could handle that.

I look back down at the file I've been attempting to read and mentally force myself to concentrate. The chaotic clamor of the squad room is not the best place to concentrate on anything, but I've grown use to it over the years. The sounds of telephones ringing and the incessant clicks of keyboards are a constant soundtrack in the 1-6. Munch and Fin arguing about John's newest conspiracy theory doesn't even bother me anymore. It's just all a part of a place that I used to be more comfortable at than I was at home, until Casey that is. For the first time in my life, I look forward to going home. It's an amazing feeling to know that I have something to go home to instead of the empty, cold, practicality of my former apartment. Hell, I may even decorate for Christmas this year.

The thoughts of Christmas trees and tiny colorful elves preoccupy my mind as I imagine the apartment awash in holiday decorations. Perhaps I'll decorate while Casey is at work, that way it'll be a surprise when she comes home. I grin to myself as I imagine my girlfriend's smile when she walks into the festive apartment.

"Benson!"

Cragen's voice jerks me out of my warm and fuzzy fantasy and back into reality.

"What's up Captain," I ask, looking at the older man standing beside my desk.

Don Cragen is about the closest thing I have to a father. He's always been there to support and guide me when I've needed it, offering insightful advice and the occasional shot of vodka to sooth my troubles away. Of course, he's always slapped me back into line when I've needed it as well.

"What planet were you on Olivia?"

I blush, embarrassed at being caught daydreaming, and offer my boss a small guilty smile.

"I was just thinking about something, sorry," I reply pathetically, my mind still preoccupied with images of reindeer and sugarplum fairies.

A small knowing grin passes between Elliot and Capt. Cragen and my blush intensifies ten-fold.

"I need to see you in my office, Liv," he says, his eyes sparkling and the grin never leaving his face.

"Sure."

I get up from my desk and follow the Captain through the squad room to his office. I watch with curiosity as he shuts the door behind us. Racking my brain, I try and come up with what he could want. I haven't done anything questionable lately, so I'm pretty sure I'm not going to get chastised, but it's not everyday you get called into the Captain's office. Especially without your partner.

"I need you to take a trip to Virginia," he says without preamble.

He slides his hands into the pockets of his brown suit as I stare at him in shock.

"What? Why," I ask, my voice practically dripping with confusion.

"Richmond P.D. called. They have a child abduction case they've been working for the past two days. Apparently they have the suspect in custody, but he's claiming that he'll only talk to Det. Olivia Benson of the NYPD."

I sit down in the uncomfortable city issued chair behind me as I try and process his declaration. What could this guy want with me?

"Look Cap, it's not the greatest time . . ."

"The kid's still out there Olivia," he interrupts, knowing that I won't be able to say no to a child in trouble.

I sigh heavily, already dreading telling Casey that I have to leave. I make a mental note to talk to Elliot about checking on her periodically.

"What time does my flight leave," I ask dejectedly.

"3:00 PM. You should go home and get packed," he turns to walk around his desk but stops and turns back towards me, "oh, and stop by the DA's office," he finishes with a smile.

My blush returns with a vengeance and I suddenly feel like a fifteen year old talking to her father about relationships for the first time.

I smile uncomfortably and get up to leave the small office.

"Give Casey my best," he says as I walk through the door and I get the sense that he's enjoying my uneasiness way too much.

I stroll back to my desk and begin to gather my things, while attempting to keep the worry I feel for Casey off my face.

"Where are you going," Elliot asks, knitting his brows in confusion.

"I have to go to Virginia. Apparently there's a perp down there that says he'll only talk to me."

Worry crosses Elliot's normally non-expressive face as he gets up from his desk chair to walk closer to me.

"Do you want me to talk to Cragen, see if he'll let me go with you," he asks quietly, as if someone could actually hear him in the hectic station house.

I smile at him and reach out to squeeze his hand in thanks. His constant wall of silent strength has been a life saver for me more than once over the years. I love how protective he is of Casey and I, it somehow makes me feel safer.

"No, it's okay. I'd rather you stay here and keep an eye on Casey for me," I reply just as quietly, "I'll be fine."

Casey hasn't spent much time alone since the rape and I'm not sure how she'll react to spending a few nights alone. I'd feel much better if I knew Elliot was here keeping an eye on her for me. I would take her with me if I could, but I know there's no way she could leave the city on such short notice.

"She'll be fine, I'll take care of her," he says with a wink and I know without a doubt that he will.

I smile my thanks as I pull my leather jacket on and shoulder my briefcase.

"Thanks El, I'll be back as soon as I can."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"Give me a break Oliver! This is the most ridiculous defense I've ever heard and I've heard a lot of bullshit in my time!!"

The slimy defense attorney, who happens to be one of my most capable opponents, plasters a smarmy grin on his tanned face.

"We'll just see what the judge has to say about that Casey," he replies and his faked politeness grates on my nerves heavily.

I exhale in an attempt not to tell the annoying man to go to hell and take his Armani suits with him. I've noticed my temper, though always fiery, is getting thinner and thinner lately. That's not really a good thing for a lawyer. Perhaps it's the lack of sleep last night that's causing my patience to be extra thin today, or perhaps it's just my particular dislike of slimy defense attorneys. One way or the other, I'm perilously close to a total meltdown.

"Fine, whatever, just please get out of my office," I say through clenched teeth.

Oliver brings his hand to his chest in mock hurt and I roll my eyes at the man's theatrics.

"Ms. Novak, you wound me with your words," he replies, still feigning hurt.

"I'm going to wound you with my stiletto heels if you don't get the hell out of my office."

He face breaks into a cocky smile that is much closer to the Oliver I know than the fake emotion he was projecting just moments ago.

"I'll see you in court counselor," he calls over his shoulder as he turns to leave.

Just as he gets to the door, Olivia appears unexpectedly.

"Good luck Detective, you're gonna need it, she's in a mood today."

With that final blow, Oliver disappears, leaving only a nervous looking Olivia in my office. I watch as she shifts her weight from foot to foot, all while smiling at me innocently.

"Well," I ask, determining that she's obviously not going to be the one to just cut to the chase.

She looks down at her feet for a moment and I take the extra time to admire my girlfriend. Her tan slacks and brown boots are accented perfectly by the brown leather jacket she's wearing and the dark green v-neck sweater offers just the right amount of color to the outfit. I smile at the necklace she's wearing, a small white gold Celtic cross that I bought her for her birthday months ago, long before our relationship started. Her longer hair is pulled back into a ponytail that causes the angles in her facial structure to really stand out. In a word . . . she looked gorgeous.

"I have to go to Virginia for a couple of days Case," she says and I can hear the conflict in her voice.

Immediately, fear seizes my heart, strong and unforgiving. I find the thought of being all alone in that apartment horrifying. I really haven't spent much time alone since Madeline. Olivia's presence has been a soothing safety net that I suddenly realize I've taken for granted. Now, faced with the prospect of that safety net being yanked out from under me, I can do nothing but sit in my elaborate leather desk chair and tremble. I'm internally disgusted with what I perceive as the ultimate weakness, but despite my disgust, I can barely control the panic coursing throughout my body.

"Elliot says he'll check on you, I won't be gone for long, and I'll have my cell phone . . .," she rambles on, apparently sensing my panic.

I smile tightly, determined to overcome my fears and not burden Olivia with my weaknesses. She has enough to worry about, without worrying about me as well.

"What's going on," I ask, attempting to sound as normal as possible.

"Richmond P.D. collared a kidnapper, the kid's still unaccounted for and the perp says he'll only talk to me."

Confusion serves to push away the tides of panic momentarily.

"Do you know who it is?"

"No, I don't recognize him and I've never collared him for anything. Maybe he'll be able to tell me why he knows me when I get there," she answers and I can see that she's just as perplexed about the whole thing as I am.

I nod my head and stare at my desk, "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too sweetie," she replies while sliding her fingers through my hair.

I lean into the touch, savoring it. After a moment I stand up and envelop her in a desperately clinging hug. I hang on to Olivia as if my life depends on it, determined not to let her go. Because I know, if I let go, then she'll leave and that's the last thing I want.

"I have to go home and pack Case," she whispers into my ear.

"I know," I reply, also whispering.

Finally, after a few more moments, I let her go and place a gentle kiss on her lips.

"Be careful okay?"

"Always," she says and smiles and winks at me, "I'll see you in a couple of days?"

"Of course." I grin at her despite the fact that my heart is pounding in fear at the thought of being alone.

With a final squeeze of my hand, she leaves my office and I immediately sit down behind my desk and try and immerse myself in my work. Maybe if I work, I won't think about it so much. Besides, I've made a few not so minor mistakes the past few weeks and I'm already on thin ice with Branch. With Olivia gone to Virginia, the work is really all I have left . . .

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 8**

"Arghhh!!"

I wad up another piece of paper and toss it across my office, watching in dismay as it bounces off of the bookshelf and ends up on the floor, no where near the trash can. I've been trying to get the first page of this motion written for the last hour and so far I have only one paragraph that's even remotely intelligent sounding. I exhale heavily and drop my head forward onto my desk with a thump that reverberates throughout the office.

My cell phone begins to ring and I open one eye to stare at it dubiously. I continue to stare until the annoying little device stops ringing, plunging my office back into blessed silence. Closing my eyes once more I feel the dread of going home to an empty apartment seep back in and I half-consider sleeping on the sofa in my office instead. My cell phone begins to ring again, vibrating it's way across my desk and I snatch it up in annoyance before it manages to vibrate itself onto the floor. Staring at the number for a moment, hopeful that it's Olivia, I manage to tamp down the disappoint that flares when I see that it's not.

My mother's number continues to flash across the tiny screen and I wrestle with the internal desire not to answer the call. It's not that I dislike my mother, we actually get along really well. It's just that I'm not in the mood to explain why I sound so dismal and Mom never takes no for an answer. After my attack, her and my father nearly drove me nuts with their constant coddling.

The constant drone of the "Cops" theme continues to emanate from the phone's speaker and I grin as I remember the day that Olivia downloaded it onto my phone. I think she thought it would annoy me, but it backfired on her instead. I've kept as my ring tone for so long that it actually annoys her more than it does me.

I finally open the phone and answer it, fully aware that my mother will continue to call until I do.

"Hi Mom," I answer, attempting to make my voice sound upbeat and carefree.

"_Casey, I've been trying to call you for days! We were getting worried_." Her voice is shrill and I wince at the exasperated sound of it, despite the fact that I'm several hundred miles from my parents.

It's funny, I'm an Assistant District Attorney for the city of New York and a grown woman, yet my mother still holds the ability to make me feel like I'm ten years old again. I don't think parents ever really lose the ability to invoke those feelings. You go through your life, confident and independent, completely sure of your own autonomy. That is until mommy calls . . . and all of a sudden you feel as if you're a child again, caught with your hand deep in the proverbial cookie jar.

"I know Mom, I've just been busy. I'm sorry if I worried you," I say, in an obvious attempt to placate the woman and tell her what she wants to hear.

"_I understand that you have a demanding job, but that's no reason to worry your parents to death. After everything that's happened, we're just concerned for you Casmira._"

The sound of my full name surprises me and it sounds foreign leaving my mother's mouth. She rarely calls me by my full name, my father does, but my mom always calls me Casey. If she's calling me Casmira, she must be really annoyed with me.

"I promise I'll call you more, okay?"

"_Hmph, we'll see about that,_" she says, before pausing and changing the subject, "_so, how are you?_"

"Okay, just taking it a day at a time," I say offhandedly.

I get the feeling that she senses that I'm having a much rougher time than I let on, but for some reason I just can't open up to my mother about this. Part of it is embarrassment and shame, she wants to know everything and for once in my life I can't open up and tell her everything. I know it's stupid, but I can't shake the feeling that she'd look at me differently if I told her everything Madeline did to me. Olivia tells me that I'm being silly and that I should know better than to think that about my own mother, but I just can't bring myself to say the words. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to.

"_That's really all you can do honey. How's Olivia doing_," she asks and I smile at the genuine tone of the question.

My parents absolutely fell in love with Olivia last time they were here. Though, who can blame them? I know I fell in love with Olivia Benson the first time I saw her as well.

"She's actually in Richmond on business for a couple of days. Maybe you can meet up for lunch, it's only a couple hour drive from Alexandria."

"_Oh, that would be nice. I really enjoy talking to her Casey, she's such a nice girl. You did well this time dear_."

I chuckle softly at her well meaning compliment. I'm so glad you approve mom.

"Yeah, I know I did. She's really good for me."

"_Your father and I aren't nearly as nervous about you being in New York all alone now that we know Olivia is there taking care of you._"

"I'm glad you approve," I laugh, glad that I answered the phone after all.

We make small talk for a few more moments, before she delves back into the hard questions.

"_Are you sleeping any better_," she asks.

I sigh, weighing whether or not to tell her the truth.

"Not really . . . I think I'm going to talk to George tomorrow and get some sleeping pills," I finally answer, determining that she'd get the truth out of me anyways.

"_Pills aren't the answer to everything Casey_."

Yeah well, neither is alcohol, but I seem to have developed a taste for that as well. At this point, I'll take anything that let's me sleep through the night. I'd give almost anything to wake up to the alarm clock, annoyed at being jerked out of slumber so suddenly, instead of screaming myself awake after yet another nightmare. People take that for granted. You don't realize how nice it is to be awakened by an alarm clock after a full night's sleep, until you no longer sleep through the night. It's amazing that such a simple thing, that means nothing to most people, can mean so much once you lose it.

"I gotta go mom. I still have a lot of work to do before I can go home," I lie and hope she doesn't call me on it.

"_Okay Casey, maybe your father and I can visit soon_?"

"Yeah," I smile sadly, "I'd like that."

"_Take care of yourself baby girl_. _I love you._"

The sound of my mother's pet name for me causes a knot to form in my throat and I swallow around it, trying to push it back down. For the first time in years, I feel homesick, and I wish my parents were closer.

"Love you too, Mom. Tell Dad I love him."

"_I will. Bye Casey._"

"Bye Mom."

I close the phone and stare at it for a while, surprised by the tears making their way down my face. It would be nice to be able to just have dinner with my parents or go shopping with my Mom once in a while. Perhaps, next time they visit I'll approach them about moving to New York.

Wiping the tears away, I pick up my pen and try and concentrate on the motion again. I'm up to two whole paragraphs now. Yay for me. After scribbling a few more incoherent lines I yank the sheet of paper off of the legal pad and toss it across the office without looking up.

"Ouch! Don't you have to yell 'fore' or something before you do that," Elliot asks as he walks into my office, rubbing his shoulder in mock pain.

I look up and raise an eyebrow at him.

"Wuss."

He grins and sticks his hands in his pockets.

"Only you could get away with calling me that," he threatens half-heartedly.

I glance over at the clock and, just as I'd suspected, it's well past nine o'clock. The late hour makes me wonder why he's here, surely it's more than just a social call.

"You're out a little late aren't you," I comment, fishing for information.

"Yeah well, you're working a little late aren't you," he retorts, obviously not willing to give any away.

I wad up another sheet of paper and toss it at his head. It misses by a mile and sails by him to land on the floor beside the door.

"You're not supposed to answer a question with a question, that's a lawyer thing, not a cop thing."

He smirks at me, before walking over to pick up a discarded ball of paper. He stands before my desk tossing it up and down and occasionally looking at me mischievously. He suddenly tosses at me and I catch it in mid-air with one hand.

A smirk of my own decorates my face as I raise my eyebrow at him.

"Good thing you catch better than you throw," he teases.

"Hey, I throw just fine thank you," I respond, tossing the paper back at him to demonstrate my throwing prowess.

It hits him square in the chest and he laughs as he takes a seat.

"You should go home Casey, it's late."

I sigh and lean back in my chair. Deep down, I know he's right. I'm not going to get anymore done here tonight, but since Olivia stopped by earlier, I've been avoiding going home like the plague.

"I'm almost ready."

"You want a ride home," he asks, his eyes never leaving my face.

That's the worst part about spending so much time around cops. They're always assessing the situation, reading your reactions, and sizing you up. Makes it difficult to lie convincingly and I'm a lawyer, lying's supposed to come naturally to us.

"Yeah, that would be good," I say, defeated.

I gather my things and follow Elliot out to his car like a woman walking to her death. The ride to the apartment is mostly silent, with the exception of the occasional small talk here and there, punctuating the silence awkwardly. As he pulls to the curb in front of our building, I glance over at his profile, illuminated by the city lights.

Swallowing my pride, I open my mouth to speak.

"Would you mind walking me up," I ask quietly, ashamed of my fear.

"Of course not Casey."

I smile my thanks at him and get out of the car, bracing myself against the cold northern wind. We walk up to the apartment, his presence behind me a soothing blanket of security, and stop in front of the door.

"Do you want to come in for a while," I ask, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice and praying that he says yes.

"Got beer?" He grins and it makes him look years younger . . . almost boyish.

"I think Olivia's got some stashed in the fridge."

"I'm all yours then," he says, waggling his eyebrows playfully.

"Beer slut."

He laughs loudly as I unlock the door and before long I join in, finding his laughter infectious. The laughter dies away and I feel the uncomfortable sensation of being stared at as I head to the fridge to retrieve his beer. I turn to look at him and find myself perplexed by the look on his face.

"God, Olivia's a lucky woman," he says and I watch the regret immediately cloud his blue eyes almost as soon as the words leave his mouth.

"What?"

I realize that the question sounds a bit dumb even as I ask it, but I can honestly think of nothing else to say. His abrupt declaration has confused my sleep deprived brain beyond rational thought.

"Nothing, forget I said anything," he mumbles uncomfortably, cramming his hands in his coat pockets and looking down at the floor.

Not a chance Elliot, you've said too much for me to just drop it like that. One of these days you'll learn that I can be quite ruthless in dragging information out of people.

"No, tell me what you meant by that."

"Casey . . .," he pleads, begging me with his eyes not to force his hand.

I continue to stare at him, determined to get to the bottom of his unusual statement, despite his reluctance to explain himself. If he's saying what I think he's saying, things around here are about to get extremely awkward. Damn, nothing ever goes smoothly does it?

"Look Casey," he starts, still refusing to meet my gaze, "I care about you a lot more than I should . . . a lot more than Olivia can ever know."

My jaw hits the floor and I stand staring at my girlfriend's best friend in shock. Oh my God, Elliot Stabler just admitted that he had feelings for me. I briefly consider pinching myself to make sure I didn't fall asleep in my office.

"What . . . why . . . I mean . . .," I stammer, still at a loss for words. I brace myself against the counter, suddenly feeling a little unsteady.

"Hey, calm down. I know nothing will ever happen, even if it could, I wouldn't do that to Olivia in a million years. I never wanted you to know," he pauses, finally looking at me, "but things have a way of coming to the surface, don't they?"

I nod my head, still unable to speak coherently.

"Please don't say anything to Olivia?" I can see the desperation and fear in his eyes and for the first time I realize that even Elliot Stabler gets frightened sometimes.

"I won't," I reply simply.

He nods his head once and walks out of the apartment, shutting the door behind him. I stare after him for a while, still trying to process the events of the last few moments. Wow, you could have asked me fifty things I thought would possibly happen and this one would have never been on that list. Now that the cat's out of the bag, so to speak, I hope things between us don't become too uncomfortable. Sooner or later, Olivia would pick up on that and that's the last thing I want. Things would quickly turn into a triangle from hell, or at least a triangle worthy of a daytime soap. God, why does life have to be so confusing??

Exhaling, I open the pantry and push the food to the side. There, tucked away in the very back is a 18 year old bottle of Glenlivet Single Malt that I've been hiding from Olivia. It's definitely turned into a scotch worthy night.

I fill a tumbler with ice and pour the alcohol over it, mesmerized by the sight of the dark amber liquor cascading over the ice cubes. Bringing the tumbler to my lips, I take a drink that drains half the glass, and wince slightly as it burns all the way down. I pull my cigarettes out of my pocket and light one, even though I never smoke in the house. Tonight, I just don't care.

The warm and fuzzy feeling from the scotch washes over my body in waves and I close my eyes, savoring the numbness that begins to creep in.

I don't have a problem, it's just an escape. Everyone has one, right?

I can quit anytime I want . . .

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 9**

I'm not sure what woke me up, but as soon as I rolled over from my position on the sofa and saw the sun streaming through the windows, I knew I was late. Cursing and fumbling with the blanket wrapped around my legs, I leap off the couch and practically run to the nearest clock. I have twenty minutes to take a shower, get dressed, and make it to the court house for my grand jury appearance.

Slamming my hand against the wall in anger, I stare balefully as a picture of Olivia and I in Central Park falls from the wall and lands on the floor with a crash. My head is pounding and the anger I'm feeling with myself is really only making it worse, but I can't help it. I'm never late for court, Branch is going to have my ass.

Ignoring the shattered glass from the picture, I walk back over to the sofa and stare down at the half empty bottle of scotch and overflowing ashtray on the coffee table. I have no idea what time I fell asleep or how long I sat on the couch, drinking, smoking, and staring at the wall.

Everything just feels like it's finally crashing down on me. Madeline, Elliot's spontaneous confession, my troubles at work . . . they're all fighting for attention in my mind and I'm not sure how much longer I can take it. Of course, after this morning, I may not have a job to worry about anymore.

I push back the nausea threatening to send me flying for the toilet and drag myself towards the shower. There's really no point in rushing now, I'm already late, even if I left this moment I'd never make it to the courthouse on time. As an afterthought, I grab my cell phone off the table and scroll through the numbers until I find Tracey Kibre's. Making the call, I wait impatiently while it rings. After several rings, I'm relieved when she finally picks up.

"_Kibre_."

"Tracey, it's Casey Novak. I was wondering if you could do me a huge favor?"

"_Sure, what do you need_," she asks.

Tracey Kibre and I have never really been friends, more like acquaintances. We grew a little closer when she prosecuted Zergin and Duvall, but despite that we've never really clicked.

"Are you in court this morning," I ask, practically holding my breath.

"_Yeah, I have a hearing in about twenty minutes, why?_"

Damn.

"Because I have a grand jury appearance in twenty minutes and I'm going to be late."

Silence is my only answer and I hear her take several halting breaths, as if she didn't know what to say.

"_Is everything okay Casey,_" she finally asks, sounding very concerned. Even she knows that this is not like me.

"Yeah, just some personal issues, no big deal," I answer, keeping my voice upbeat and nonchalant.

"_Gaffney can make the appearance for you, do you have the case file in your office?_"

I sigh in relief and mentally send up a little prayer of thanks. Kelly Gaffney is a rising star in the DA's office and I have no doubt that she can handle this, after all it's just a routine grand jury hearing.

"Yes, it's on my desk. Security can let her in. Thank you so much Tracey, I'll be there as soon as I can."

"_No problem Casey . . . look, if you need to talk, you know where I am_."

I smile at the woman's offered support, even though I'll never take her up on the offer. Everyone in the DA's office knows what happened, they all knew Madeline. I think that's part of the reason I've been thinking of leaving. I just can't stand the stares and whispers anymore. They're getting a little better, but people still look at me for a split second too long every time I walk into the break room or the rest room. Pity really is such a horribly unwanted thing. People mean well, but I've never met a victim who wanted pity. Mostly they just want to forget, just like me.

"Thanks Tracey, maybe I'll take you up on that."

"_Anytime. I'll see you soon._"

"Bye."

I hang up the phone and toss it on the sink, before stripping off my clothes and getting into the shower.

The pulsating hot water begins to relieve the pressure in my head, but does nothing for the nausea. I turn my face up to the showerhead, allowing it to cascade over my face and surround me in the sound of running water. I've always found that to be such a relaxing sound. It's kind of like losing yourself in the little bubble, where nothing matters and all you hear is the sound of the water rushing past your ears. I suppose it would be much more comforting this morning, if I weren't left with the screaming of my own thoughts. I lean forward, placing my hands on the tiled wall, while still keeping my head under the water.

God, what was Elliot thinking? For that matter, what was I thinking? I don't know why I couldn't just shut up and let him keep his secret. But no, I had let my curiosity rule and drag it out of him kicking and screaming. Now, I find myself left with an extremely difficult situation, completely of my own making. The thought of coming between a friendship like Olivia and Elliot's makes me physically ill, then again, that could just be the scotch . . . I'm not sure.

Sighing, I go about washing my hair and myself before turning off the water regretfully.

Maybe, I can just ignore it. I mean, he obviously knows nothing will happen. I love Olivia, that's all there is to it. Well, that and the fact that I'm a happily gay woman with no desire for a walk on the hetero side . . . been there, done that . . . still trying to figure out what all the fuss is about.

Drying off, I quickly get dressed and dry my hair, pulling it back into a quick ponytail. A little makeup here and there and I check myself in the mirror, just to make sure that I don't look as if I've come off of a three day bender. Well, all in all, I don't look too bad, but the dark circles under my bloodshot eyes really aren't that attractive.

A little foundation and a couple of drops of Visine later, I'm hailing a cab and shivering in the early morning air. I pass the cab ride by trying to call Olivia. She doesn't answer and I resist the urge to page her. Believe it or not Novak, she's got things she has to do as well, and she doesn't need you paging her and scaring the hell out of her. Dejectedly I slide the cell phone into my briefcase and stare out the window at the passing city for the rest of the ride.

The cabby pulls up right in front of the courthouse moments later and I pay him as I quickly exit the smelly cab. Turning to go up the steps, I stop in my tracks.

Arthur Branch is standing on the steps and from the way he's looking at me, he's waiting for me. Crap . . . my day has just gone from bad to worse in the span of two seconds. Building up what little courage I have left, I stride towards my boss as if I'm not forty-five minutes late and everything's normal.

"You're late, Casey," he drawls, sliding his hands in his pockets.

"Did Kibre call you," I ask, furious with her for ratting me out.

"No, I've been watching you Casey. I went to the grand jury hearing this morning expecting to see my Sex Crimes ADA and instead I saw Kelly Gaffney. I called Kibre myself."

I look down at my boots, a little ashamed that I'd immediately thought the worst of the woman. I try and come up with something to say, but there's really nothing that can be said in this situation. I screwed up and now it's time to face the music.

"You know, when you wanted to come back so soon after what happened, I trusted you. I didn't agree with you, but I trusted you. Now I see that I should've listened to my gut instinct all along," he says, staring at me disappointedly.

"Arthur, I'm sorry. I messed up, I know that . . .," I start, but am quickly interrupted.

"Casey, you could've blown the case. That's a little more than a mess up."

Worry tugs at my brain as I suddenly realize that I'm in for more than a dressing down. He's not going to fire me is he? He fired Serena when she screwed up. Oh God, I can't lose my job, it's the only thing keeping me sane . . . please don't take that away from me.

"You look like hell and you reek of alcohol, go home Casey. Get your priorities in order and then come see me . . . you'll have a place here when you do."

My shame is barely tempered by the relief I feel that he didn't just fire me straight out.

"What about SVU," I ask quietly, worried about all the cases we have pending.

"I've temporarily reassigned Kelly Gaffney to your cases, she'll take care of them Casey. You need to worry about taking care of yourself," he replies in an almost fatherly manner.

"I thought you were going to fire me." There, I said it.

The statement hangs heavily in the air between us and the understanding I see in the DA's eyes surprises me.

"Casey, you were a hell of a prosecutor once. I've been watching your career since you started. You could really go places with my office, but not the way you are now," he pauses, "now, you're an empty shell impersonating Casey Novak and only you can find her again. Nobody can do that for you."

I'm a bit taken back by his harsh words and my temper immediately flares, even though I know he's right and only telling me what I need to hear.

"Did that make you angry? Good, it should. Now, go home Casey," he says in his deep south drawl, before turning and walking away from me.

I stand and stare after him, still in shock. There are so many emotions waging war in my head right now I don't even know where to start to deal with them. Anger, shame, pain, hopelessness . . . each of them swirls in my head, finally uniting in a torrent of sheer desperation. Desperation to understand why. Why Madeline did this, why I can't just get over it and move on, why do I continually drown my sorrows in alcohol . . . just why?

I turn to walk down the street, lost in my own thoughts, with no plan as to where I'm going. Right now, I just want to walk.

After what seems like hours of walking, I find myself standing in front of Dr. George Huang's office. Hesitantly I raise my hand to knock on the door, not really sure what I'm doing here. I stop and turn to leave when the door open's and the diminutive psychiatrist steps out.

"Casey, what are you doing here," he asks in that annoyingly smooth, monotone voice.

I consider my options and quickly come to the conclusion that there's no easy way out of this. I don't normally make social calls to his office and he knows that.

"Branch suspended me," I say in a rush of words, surprising myself.

He looks at me with compassion and I find it even more annoying than the soothing voice. It's the way he looks at his patients. I'm not a patient, he shouldn't be looking at me like that.

"Come in," he says, pushing the door open wider and stepping aside to offer me entrance.

"It's okay George, I'm okay. I don't even know what I'm doing here."

"You look exhausted Casey, have you been sleeping," he asks.

"Not really."

He stares at me and I get the strange feeling that he's psychoanalyzing me. I suddenly feel like running away to escape his gaze.

"Could you maybe prescribe me something," I ask hesitantly, hoping that he doesn't want me to talk.

"I could, yes. But it would only be temporary Casey. You have to deal with what's disturbing your sleep. You can't just override it with a pill."

Yeah, well maybe I want to just _override_ it with a pill Huang. Back off, I've already been lectured once today. I don't need it from you too.

"Please, I just want to sleep through the night. I promise I'll talk to Olivia when she gets back, okay?"

From the look on his face, I know he doesn't believe me, but he pulls out his prescription pad anyways. Scribbling for a moment, he rips the prescription off the stack and hands it to me. As I reach out to take it from his hand, he holds on to it, forcing me to look up at him.

"It's a prescription for Seconal Casey. It's a very powerful sleep aide, but it's only temporary."

I nod and he let's go of the sheet of paper. Looking down at it, I fold it and stick it in my coat pocket.

"Thank you," I say, genuinely meaning it.

"You're welcome. If you need to talk Casey, we can keep it off the record."

I smile, briefly considering his proposal. The desire to pick up my new prescription and go home and try them out overwhelms any inclinations I may have had to stay and talk.

"Yeah, maybe I'll do that," I say, turning to walk down the hall and away from the psychiatrist's probing eyes.

Returning home, clutching my new prescription, I toss my stuff beside the door in a pile. I pull the bottle out of the bag and look over the multitude of warnings, before popping the lid to look at the little red pills. I pour a couple out and take them, swallowing them down without water. As I move to the couch, my gaze is once again drawn to the scotch still sitting on the table.

The label said not to take with alcohol, but they always say that, what could it hurt?

Filling the tumbler with ice once more, I pour the scotch and take a sip, while leaning back on the couch. Now, all I have to do is wait for the pills to kick in.

Two hours later and the rest of the bottle of scotch later, I'm still sitting on the couch staring at the CNN news broadcast . . . wide awake. Cursing, I stumble over to the bottle of Seconal and pop the lid off once more. Taking out a couple of more pills, I take them, and make my way slowly to the balcony to smoke.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**Barren**

**Disclaimer**: Don't own them, though I wish I did.

**Pairing**: Casey/Olivia established relationship.

**Warnings**: Femslash. It also deals with the aftermath of rape, so it's not a happy piece folks.

**Chapter 10**

The late evening lights of the city blur together in streams of green, red, and yellow against the windows as the cab carries me home from the airport.

The entire trip to Virginia was a waste. The useless excuse for a human being had simply read my name in the New York Times and used it as an excuse not to talk. The child was already dead, Richmond P.D. found her body in a dumpster just a few blocks from where the perp was apprehended. After ten straight hours of interrogation, with few breaks, we'd gotten it out of him.

I sigh disgustedly, still sorry that I had to leave Casey in New York by herself. We've only spoken once since my plane left last night and something didn't quite sound right. I can't really put a finger on it, but it was just something about her voice, it sounded so empty . . . almost hollow. Shivering as I remember my girlfriend's dead tone, I mentally will the cab to go faster.

I just really don't know how to help her anymore. We've taken some steps in the right direction. But, it seems for every step we take, she takes three giant leaps backwards. I know she's drinking, I haven't wanted to admit it to myself, but I see all the signs right in front of my face. Now she's talking about quitting the DA's office, something I never thought I'd hear come out of her mouth. She loves prosecuting, everyone can see that, it's in the way that she handles each and every case with a delicacy and compassion that can't be learned. You can either do the job or you can't, it really is that simple.

Pulling my cell phone out of my pocket, I dial Casey's cell phone again, and listen to the endless rings. Once more she doesn't answer my call and the fear that's already present increases just a little more. I obsessively fidget with the small device, turning it over again and again in my hands, desiring something . . . anything . . . to take my mind off of the nagging fear.

"Hey look, is there anyway you could speed up a little," I lean forward and ask the cabby, sliding him a fifty.

He grins a little and the momentum from the increased speed pushes me back against the dingy grey seat. Horns blare as the cab swerves in and out of traffic, cutting people off like there's no tomorrow. I tighten my grip on the door handle, a little frightened by the erratic driving. I asked you to speed up a _little_ not get us both killed.

An involuntary gasp escapes my lips as we narrowly miss a black Mercedes and careen into the adjacent lane. Finally, after several more near misses, the roller coaster cab ride comes to an end in front of our apartment building.

Sighing in relief, I lean forward and pay the driver, smiling my thanks before extricating myself from the cab and pulling my suitcase out onto the curb. Struggling with my carry on and suitcase, I manage to make it upstairs to the apartment after considerable effort and frustration.

The sound of the tv from inside the apartment gives me some hope that she's at least home, though I still don't understand why she's not answering my calls. I push the door open and drag my things inside, dropping them beside Casey's briefcase and rumpled trench coat laying on the floor.

"Casey? I'm home . . .," I yell out, frowning when she doesn't answer.

I walk around the couch and grin at the sight of Casey stretched across the couch, seemingly sleeping peacefully. Immediately, I drop to my knees beside my sleeping girlfriend. The empty bottle of scotch on the table concerns me, but I push it away for the moment as I attempt to shake her awake. After a few moments of fruitless shaking, my breathing quickens and my heart begins to pound . . . why isn't she waking up?

It was not until that moment that I noticed how shallowly she was breathing. Bringing my trembling hand to her neck, I feel for a pulse and close my eyes in relief when I feel the weak but steady throb under my fingertips.

Shaking her again, almost violently, I'm startled as a bottle of pills falls from her hand and spills it's contents across the carpet.

"Oh God, Casey . . . what did you do," I ask, anguished, as I pick up the bottle and look at the label.

Seconal . . . Jesus Christ, Casey what were you thinking, you don't drink while taking barbiturates. Scooping up the pills and dropping them back in the bottle, I replace the cap and cram them in my coat pocket. I turn my attention back to my unconscious girlfriend, panicked and horrified by the scene in front of me. Taking a breath, I fall back on my training and let the cop take over, unable to deal with the very real fact that this may not be accidental.

As I pull my phone out to dial 911, I lift her eyelids and take note of the widely dilated pupils almost completely obscuring her beautiful green irises. Any training helping me maintain the thin modicum of control I was clinging to, quickly flew out the window when her eyes rolled back in her head and her body begin to shake violently on the couch. Resisting the desire to hold her down and stop the violent convulsions, I instead do what I know needs to be done and pull her off the couch, positioning her on her side on the floor.

I bite my lip until I taste the coppery flavor of blood, trying desperately to hold on to some semblance of rationality as my fingers clumsily dial 911.

"_911, what is your emergency_," a bored sounding voice asks sounding tiny and distant as it comes across the line.

"Um, it's my girlfriend . . . I think she OD'd on Seconal, God I don't know. She's having a seizure . . .," I say, babbling to the operator and cursing myself for sounding like a frightened child.

"_Are you Olivia Benson?_"

"Yes."

"_Okay Olivia, you need to roll her on her side . . ._," the woman starts.

"I did that already," I answer impatiently.

"_Are you sure she took Seconal?_"

"Yes, I have the bottle . . . she also . . . she drank a lot I think."

I loathe saying those words, maybe if I'd payed more attention, stepped in when I knew in my heart that she had a problem . . . then maybe she wouldn't be laying here on the floor of our apartment possibly fighting for her life.

"_Okay honey, the EMT's are on their way, but I need you to stay on the line with me, okay?_"

"Uh huh," I mumble, rapidly losing the battle to suppress the tears threatening to explode at any moment. A small sob of relief escapes my throat when she finally stops shaking.

"_Olivia, I need you to stay with me. Is she still convulsing_," the operator asks, keeping her voice calm and soothing, just as she's trained to do.

"No, she just stopped . . ."

"_Do you know how to check her vitals Olivia,_" she continues to use my name in an effort to keep my attention focused on her, "_can you do that for me?_"

"Yeah, I can do that," I reply, reaching out tentatively to feel for Casey's pulse once more. The rapid flutter feels weak as her heart struggles to compensate for the overload of depressants.

"It's really fast and weak . . . oh God . . .," I say, my voice strangled and panicky.

Impulsively, I slide over and pull her into my lap, clinging to her limp body tightly with one arm while holding the phone with the other.

"_The EMT's should be almost at your door Olivia_."

I rock her back and forth, tears running down my face, silently begging her to hold on and not give up. Please, you can't leave me . . . don't do this to me Casey. I can't go on without you, I don't want to go on without you . . .

The knock at the door startles me at first, but it is quickly overcome by relief as I yell to the paramedics that the door is open.

"They're here," I tell the operator, hanging up the phone and dropping it on the floor so that I can wrap both arms protectively around her.

Two FDNY paramedics enter the apartment, rolling a stretcher and immediately heading toward us.

"Ma'am, I need you to let her go and let us take care of her," the older of the two says forcefully.

I barely hear them, continuing to cling to her body possessively, terrified that if I let her go that she'll leave me.

"Ma'am, please . . . let us help her," he says, putting his hand on my shoulder and pulling me out of my fugue.

I lay her down gently and back away silently, allowing the medics to work on her.

"Do you know how many Seconal's she took," he asks, looking to me for an answer.

I shake my head and wipe the tears away. I watch silently as the medics lift her onto the lowered stretcher, cursing myself for not seeing this coming. Maybe if I'd just paid more attention . . . maybe if I'd been a little more forceful about her drinking, then maybe it wouldn't have come to this.

"Rick, I can't find a pulse," the other medic says, frantically searching her neck for some sign of life.

"Shit," he says, moving beside Casey and feeling her wrist, "start CPR."

The soul wrenching scream that erupts from my throat sounds foreign and distant as I run for the stretcher, only to be stopped by the older medic.

"You've got to stay back," he orders harshly, catching me and pushing me back gently.

I cover my mouth with my hand as the sobs roll in waves over my body.

Watching the medics work frantically over Casey, pumping her chest and forcing air into her lungs, my world drags in slow motion. For what seems like an eternity, they alternate between CPR and checking for a pulse, each time shaking their heads and going back to the violent chest compressions.

I hold my breath, as he checks again for any sign that her heart is fighting to beat on it's on.

"I've got a weak pulse, but we've gotta get her to Mercy," he says, sounding relieved, and looking to his partner.

I almost burst out laughing in relief. I send up a prayer of thanks to whomever's listening for answering my prayers.

I knew she was stronger than that . . .

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 11**

"29 year old female. Seconal/Alcohol OD. BP's 75/43, Heart Rate 47, Respiration's slow and shallow. Coded once in route."

I watch the medics and nurses interact numbly. It almost feels as if I'm watching a television program. Nurses and Doctors, Paramedics and EMT's; and there in the middle of it all, laying deathly silent . . . the woman that I love.

The older medic passes the bag off to a nurse who continues to pump the device seamlessly, forcing air into Casey's lungs through the mask over her face. I marvel at the smooth efficiency of it all. The transfer from the stretcher onto the hospital bed, while the nurses hook up a multitude of machinery and wires. The Doctor shouting out orders in a language that seems almost foreign to me, though I know it's English.

"Start a line and get me an intubation kit," the young female doctor, that looks freshly out of med school, yells to the nearest nurse.

"Anybody know how many she took?"

The medic steps forward and tosses the doctor the pill bottle I'd given him on the way here.

"Date's today Dr. Lawson."

The doctor, Dr. Lawson, looks at the bottle briefly before handing it over to a nurse standing off to the side.

"Count those," she orders in clipped tones.

I stand as far back as possible, while still being able to see what's going on. I don't want to get in the way, but nothing short of an army is going to make me go to the waiting room.

One of the nurses unfolds a kit containing what looks like nothing more than a mass of tubes and metal to me on a small table near the doctor. I watch as they intubate my girlfriend, a procedure I'd seen paramedics on the streets perform a thousand times. Somehow, it's so much more grotesque when they're cramming that tube down someone you love's throat.

"Do you want the charcoal Doctor?"

Dr. Lawson pauses for a split second, before shaking her head.

"No, get me a gastric lavage kit."

The nurse runs off to fulfill the doctor's order while still more nurses obsessively monitor Casey's vitals. Finally, Dr. Lawson withdraws the metal device she'd been using to guide the tubing into Casey's lungs and tapes the tube in place as the nurse returns with the requested equipment.

The medic named Rick, who'd been hanging in the background filling out paperwork, approaches me cautiously. I look up into his kind eyes and await whatever he's come to say.

"Look ma'am, you may not want to watch this. Gastric Lavage is not a pleasant thing to see . . ."

"I'm not going anywhere," I answer stubbornly.

He takes a couple of halting breaths, as if to argue, but instead simply nods his head and walks back to his previous position.

"Olivia!"

I turn towards the familiar voice to see Elliot running my way, fear plastered across his face. Doing the first thing that comes to mind, I meet him halfway and fall into his arms, suddenly desiring the comfort that only he provides. He holds onto me desperately, nearly crushing me in his strong arms. When we finally pull back, I'm surprised to see his eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"What's going on," he asks breathlessly.

"She OD'd Elliot. On Seconal that Dr. Huang prescribed," I answer, angry with the psychiatrist for giving Casey the strong meds in the first place.

"Oh God, this is my fault . . .," he trails off, looking away from me.

Why would he think it's his fault? If anyone's to blame, it's Casey herself and Dr. Huang, in my mind at least.

"Elliot, what are you talking about?"

"Nothing . . . I just should've checked on her tonight," he says, still looking down at the floor.

"You couldn't have known," I assure him, trying to ease his mind, "how did you find out about this anyway?"

"Your number's flagged in the 911 system as law enforcement. The supervisor over there called Cragen, he's on his way too."

Damn, Casey's going to be pissed when she wakes up . . . if she wakes up. I actively push that thought out of my mind. She will wake up. She has to. I have to believe that or I'm going to fall apart and that's not going to do anyone any good right now.

"Should I call Fin and Munch," he asks, looking at me intently.

"I don't know, I guess. They'd be upset if we didn't let them know," I pause, dragging my hands down my face in an effort to relieve the headache that throbs there, "just don't tell them that she OD'd, tell them it was a reaction or something."

He nods his head, understanding that I'm only trying to protect Casey's privacy.

"She'll be okay," he states, though it sounds more like a question than a statement.

I nod and allow him to squeeze my hand before he walks off to make the phone calls. I have to call her parents as well, I suddenly remember with an impending sense of dread. Putting it off for a few more moments, I turn my head back to the trauma room she's in.

The doctor is just finishing the process of placing the gastric tube down her throat. God, she's got so many wires and tubes coming out of her that she doesn't even look human anymore. What were you thinking Casey? Why would you do this . . . why didn't you just talk to me? The questions rage on in my mind, though there are no answers, and I once again wipe away the tears coating my cheeks.

The team working on her begins the procedure to pump her stomach contents and I look away, still in shock that this is the woman I'd left only yesterday. The erratic beeping of the heart monitor makes me look back as the team jumps into action.

"Heart rate's dropping!"

The erratic beeps merge into a steady sustained alarm that causes the blood to drain from my face.

"She's coding," the doctor yells, yanking open her shirt to reveal bare skin, before turning to accept the defib paddles from the nurse.

"Code Blue, Trauma 3. Code Blue, Trauma 3." The overhead announcement barely registers as I'm nearly knocked over by the rush of medical personnel into the room.

"Clear!" The electric shock lifts her pale body off the bed.

"Somebody get her outta here," one of the nurses orders, pointing at me.

"Ma'am, you need to come with me," the nameless tech says, pulling at my arm gently.

"Get your fucking hands off me!" The man's eyes widen as I jerk my arm forcefully from his grasp.

"Ma'am please . . .," he says, holding up his hands in a non-threatening manner.

"Olivia . . . Detective Benson," Captain Cragen's commanding voice barely penetrates the rush of blood in my ears and he grabs my arm, "let them do their jobs."

I turn to him and let out a sob against his chest, soaking his shirt with my tears, as he leads me to the private waiting room. Once inside, I let the sobs take over, as all my fears come pouring out and nearly drown me in their intensity. He simply holds me and lets me have my release, murmuring words of comfort that I don't believe.

"Ms. Benson," I look up through the tears, absolutely terrified, at the nurse who just entered the room, "we've got her stabilized, Dr. Lawson will be in to talk to you soon okay?"

She smiles compassionately at me, leaning down to rub my arm. I briefly wonder if she really cares, or it's just something she's trained to do. Surely, it's just another nameless and faceless patient to her. How could she allow herself to care for each and every one? How can you really feel remorse when you see so many lives end every day? I wonder if they really think of that person that they fight so hard to keep alive as someone's mother, or sister, or wife . . .

I smile back in relief, as the sobs come again, this time as an expression of pure and unadulterated happiness that she's not here to tell me that my Casey was one of those they couldn't save.

"Told you she wasn't going to give up that easily Olivia," Cragen says, smiling.

"She's too damn stubborn for that," Elliot says, walking into the room and sharing a relieved smile with all of us.

He sits down in the empty chair on my other side and puts his hand on my leg.

"I called Fin and John, they're on their way. Have you called her parents yet?"

Shaking my head, I feel the dread flood back in.

"Do you want me to call them," Elliot asks.

"No . . . no, it should come from me," I answer, just as the doctor walks into the room.

"Are you the next of kin for Casey Novak," she inquires, looking straight at me.

"She's my girlfriend."

"Do you have medical power of attorney honey," Dr. Lawson asks, almost regretfully.

I shake my head, the thought never even entering my mind that I'd need something like that.

"No, but her parents live out of state and won't be here for hours." Well, that is after I get up the nerve to call them and tell them that their daughter very possibly tried to commit suicide.

I can see the conflict playing out in the doctor's pale blue eyes. Logically, I know that she'd be bending the rules severely if she chose to tell me _anything_ about Casey's condition. Sighing, she finally sits down across from us, obviously willing to take the chance.

"She's stable, but she's going to have to remain intubated until the drugs are out of her system."

"Is she awake," I ask hopefully, wiping my face with the tissues Elliot provided.

"No, she's in a coma. But we believe she'll wake up once her body clears out the toxins," she pauses for a moment, "it's very common in severe barbiturate OD's for the patient to be in a coma for sometimes as long as three days, but once we stabilize their vitals, they usually wake up."

"Usually?"

"It's very rare for them to have complications, but as always, they are possible," she answers reassuringly.

"Ms. . . Benson is it," she asks, looking down at her chart.

"Yes, but please call me Olivia." Ms. Benson was my mother.

"There really is no easy way to ask this . . .," she starts as she fidgets with the chart.

"You want to know if she tried to kill herself," I say numbly, well aware that this was coming.

"I'm sorry, but it's standard in OD's."

I look down at the tissues in my hands, shredding them with increasing intensity, while I try to come up with an answer for her. The truth is, I really don't know. I want to believe she didn't . . . that this was all an accident. But that dead, hollow voice I heard during our phone call just keeps coming back to haunt me.

"I really don't know," I finally answer, deflated.

She shakes her head and makes a few notes on her chart.

"Can I see her now?"

"Soon, we just have a couple of things to do first," she smiles as she gets up to leave the room.

Once the doctor is gone, I pull my cell phone from my pocket, out of excuses not to call Casey's parents.

"I'm going to go outside and call her parents," I say to Elliot and Captain Cragen, getting up to leave the waiting room.

I don't wait for an answer, I simply exit the door and find myself face to face with the person I've channeled all my anger at . . . Dr. Huang.

"Olivia, I just heard . . .," he starts.

Pulling back my fist, I do the only thing that comes to mind, I punch him as hard as I can.

Huang stumbles back, bringing his hand up to staunch the blood now flowing from his split lip.

"You son of a bitch, what the hell were you thinking," I yell irrationally.

He stares back at me with wide eyes, obviously shocked by my behavior. Truthfully, I'm I little shocked as well. But, right now, I'm so angry that I don't care.

Elliot and Capt. Cragen burst from the waiting room just as I begin to approach the smaller man for another go. Elliot grabs me by my waste and drags me towards the exit as Cragen moves to check on George. All of the ER personnel stare at the altercation in shock, unsure what's going on or what to do about it.

"Let go of me Elliot, this is his fault," I threaten.

"It's nobody's fault Olivia, it just happened," he says, continuing to drag me towards the exit.

"He gave her the pills!"

I continue my fruitless struggle against my partners rock solid arms, beyond rational thought and running only on pure rage and misplaced aggression.

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 12**

The first sound I hear upon entering Casey's room is the mechanical hiss of the ventilator breathing for her. Steeling myself for the sight, I force my legs into action and move closer to the bed.

Before this moment, I had not realized that someone could look so close to death while their heart still beat. Her vivid red hair, returned to it's natural state only months ago, hangs limp and dull around a face so pale that it appears translucent. The tubing coming from her mouth, providing her lungs with oxygen, a grotesque testament to her body's weakened state. Her hands, with their manicured nails, are stretched along her sides, rising gently with each artificial breath she takes.

My hand finds itself once again trying to stifle the torrent of tears that seems to be always right there, just on the edge waiting for the opportunity to pour forth. Fighting them back, I look down at my hand and wince at the bruises and small cut decorating my knuckles. Once Elliot finally calmed me down enough to think rationally, I called Casey's parents and gave them the news. Her mother had sobbed, much like me, while her father simply got deathly silent. After a few moments, he informed me that they would take the next flight out. Looking down at my watch, I realize that I have a few more hours alone with her before they get here.

Finally forcing myself to move beside the bed, I sit down on the edge and reach out tentatively to touch her hand. I lace my fingers with her's and squeeze her hand, inwardly cringing at how limp her hand is.

"I'm here Casey," I say simply, hoping that somehow she hears me.

I get no answer, no much written about squeeze of my hand, nothing . . . except for the swishing ventilator and the reassuring beep of her heart monitor. It's as if she isn't even there. I wonder what fanciful construct her mind has built for her? Perhaps, there is nothing, only deep, dark, impenetrable darkness. Terrified by that prospect, I make up my mind to never leave her alone until she wakes up. Maybe, if someone is here at all times . . . holding her limp hand and telling her that everything will be alright . . . then maybe she won't be so frightened by wherever she is.

"I'm not going to leave you, I'll be right here when you wake up."

I feel slightly foolish, as if I'm talking to myself, but if there's some chance . . . even a minute one . . . that she can hear me, I'll take that chance.

The sound of someone entering the room draws my attention away from Casey.

"Any change," Elliot asks solemnly.

I look at Elliot's wrinkled shirt, his tie loosened and hanging crookedly from his neck. He's carrying his jacket and I'm struck by how tired he looks. The lines on his face stand out starkly in his frighteningly pale skin.

"No."

"I talked to Huang, he understands why you did what you did," he says gently, afraid of riling my anger for the man again.

"I shouldn't have," I answer, looking up into his eyes, their cobalt blue now faded to the sickly gray of rain clouds.

He shrugs, not really knowing what to say, but his eyes never leave the hospital bed.

"You should go home and get some rest Elliot."

"I'm fine," he says, the corner of his mouth lifting in what could be perceived as a grin, "what about you?"

"I'm not going anywhere, I promised her I wouldn't leave." I stroke the back of her hand lightly with my fingertips, more to comfort myself than anything.

"She wouldn't know Olivia," he says quietly, almost a whisper against the backdrop of alarms and machinery.

"You don't know that."

I glare at him, daring him to challenge me. He doesn't, allowing me to live in my delusion, the only thing that's giving me peace. At least he's smart enough to realize when to back off and leave me alone.

The nurse enters the room carrying a chart as thick as a novel. I've never seen this one, I'm sure she wasn't one of the ER nurses.

"I'm really sorry, but visiting hours are over," she says, looking at us regretfully.

"Can I stay the night?"

"We're really not supposed to have overnight visitors in ICU . . .," she starts.

"Please . . ."

She sighs and pushes her dark brown hair behind her ear, looking at me from behind black framed glasses. Glasses just like Alex wore.

"If they say anything, I'll tell them I'm NYPD . . . I'll make sure you don't get in trouble," I assure the young woman, so desperate to stay by Casey's side that I feel no regret for abusing the power that comes with my badge.

"Okay, but both of you can't stay. I'm sorry."

"I'm going," Elliot says while pulling his jacket on.

I regretfully lay Casey's hand down and get up to hug my partner, once again thankful for his support.

"Go home and get some rest El," I say, pulling back from the hug and staring pointedly into his eyes.

He nods his head and leans down to grasp Casey's hand, looking at her for a moment before turning to walk from the room.

I retake my position on the edge of her bed and reclaim her cold hand, covering it with both of mine in an effort to warm it. The nurse checks the machines, staring at the jumble of numbers, occasionally adjusting them while making notes on the chart. She finally turns her gaze on me, her pale green eyes staring into my deep brown ones.

"Is she your girlfriend," she asks hesitantly, as if she's afraid of being too presumptuous.

I nod my head.

"Thought so," she grins.

"How is she," I ask, hoping against hope that there's some improvement.

"The same," she says, fidgeting with the chart and leaning against the wall, "you know you're lucky."

"Why?" I stare at the young woman, confused by her statement.

"Because you got to her in time . . . I wasn't so lucky," she says and I swear that her voice is choked with unshed tears.

Understanding dawns and I look at the woman in a new light.

"How long," I ask simply.

"It's been almost a year."

"I'm sorry." I can think of nothing else to say to the obviously still grieving woman.

She gives me a tight smile as sadness clouds her eyes, her mind clearly in another place and time.

That could be me.

Hope begins to filter into my grief clouded mind like the suns rays after an evening thunderstorm, breaking through the unforgiving darkness and shedding light where before there was none. Such a simple gesture, an offer of understanding extended in mutual grief, that ends up clarifying the situation more so than anything else could have. Two situations, so similar in the beginning, with completely different outcomes.

I get up and close the distance between the two of us, extending my hand out to the beautiful young nurse.

"I'm Olivia," I introduce myself, determined that she should at least know the woman's name that she effected so much with her painful revelation.

"Michaela," she answers, taking my hand.

"Thank you."

She smiles again, her eyes sparkling with tears. I smile back and something passes between us, an understanding that we are two sides of a coin; two living, breathing possible outcomes to a similar situation, one positive . . . one negative.

"I'll be back to check on her in a little while," she says, leaving the room to attend to her other duties.

I stare after her for a while, still deeply effected by the shared moment, before turning back to my girlfriend with a renewed sense of just how lucky we were. If I'd been only moments later, I could have been saying my last goodbyes to the woman I've come to think of as my soul mate. I know that sounds horribly cliche. Until I met her, I didn't believe any of that 'you complete me' crap either. But the amazing thing is, she really does complete me. My weaknesses are her strengths and vice versa. If you want to call that a soul mate, then so be it. All I know is that we fit perfectly together as if we were made to be together and that's really all I need.

I move back to the bed and lay down beside her, careful not to disturb any of the wires or tubes coming from her body. Propping myself up on my elbow, I trace my fingertips gently over her forehead, smoothing her hair back from her face. She never could stand it in her eyes. Even now, though she's in a coma, I somehow think that it's probably annoying her.

I have no idea if you did this to yourself Casey. Perhaps it was just an accident. The amazing thing is, I really don't care. I came so close to losing you that the circumstances are not important to me . . . what's important is that you pulled through, against all the odds, and will be coming back to me soon. When you do, we have to have a long talk though, because I'm through with tip-toeing around things and allowing you to continue to self-destruct.

I was so afraid that if I pushed you to talk, or pointed out your drinking, you would leave me. I realize now that it wouldn't have mattered, as long as you were safe. If my forcing you to face your self-destructive demons would've kept you out of this hospital bed, I would have dealt with you leaving. Don't get me wrong, I would have been a blubbering mess, but I would have dealt with it.

"I love you," I say out loud, leaving my thoughts for another day.

Snuggling as close to her as I can, I inhale the faint scent of her perfume, still clinging to her body even after all that she's been through today. It's strange how scents can invoke the images of a certain time and place. Some bring to mind childhood homes and holiday's filled with extended family and gifts. I never had any of that, my mother never once put up a Christmas tree. She always got me a gift, some impersonal thing that she'd spent five minutes deciding on.

My childhood was a joke. When you're raised by an alcoholic parent, you become the responsible one in the relationship. I realize, for the first time, that I've never had a home. I didn't know that before her . . . you can't miss what you've never had.

Now, laying here curled awkwardly beside her still body, inhaling the sweet scent that's distinctly her own, I finally understand.

She smells like home.

**TBC**

**Medical Notes**: _Gastric Lavage _is a fancy medical word for stomach pumping and irrigation As far as the Seconal goes, it actually is a barbiturate and sleep aide, it is also very volatile if mixed with alcohol . . . however, it has anticonvulsent properties, therefore would most likely not cause seizures. But, in my defense, seizures are more dramatic . . . and I'm the writer, so there! ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Barren**

**Disclaimer**: Don't own them, though I wish I did.

**Pairing**: Casey/Olivia established relationship.

**Warnings**: Femslash. It also deals with the aftermath of rape, so it's not a happy piece folks.

**Notes**: I've tried not to violate any canon aspect of the show too heavily while filling in Casey's past. I don't think that I have, but if you're a huge stickler for canon, I'll go ahead and apologize if I did! Basically, Casey needed a past, I'm trying to provide her with one.

**Chapter 13**

I dozed most of the night by her side, awakened occasionally by Michaela doing her rounds, but content in simply being close. She didn't move, of that I'm sure. I would have felt it, my senses in hyper drive, tuned to any slight twitch or deviation from the steady beep of the heart monitor. She lay unchanged, seemingly unaware of the outside world, consumed by unconsciousness and locked in the laberynth of her own mind.

Dragging myself from the hospital bed, I stretch to my full height and extend my arms high above my head. The resounding chorus of cracks that extend from one end of my spine to the other are a satisfying relief.

"That sounded like it hurt," Michaela quips, strolling into the room for yet another check of some machine or the other.

I grin at her, "it felt wonderful."

She arches her eyebrow at me from behind those familiar black glasses, before turning back to the flattened IV bag hanging from the pole.

"This needs to be replaced," she pauses, frowning, "the techs are supposed to do it, but I'll take care of it before I leave."

"Thanks," I reply to her retreating form, though I know she's really only doing her job.

Looking down at my watch, I realize that Casey's parents will be here any moment. My empty stomach gurgles with nervousness at the thought of my girlfriend's parents. I'm really not sure what I'm going to say to them. What if they blame me for not being there? Or ask questions that I don't have the answers too?

I try and actively push the fear away rather unsuccessfully. Sighing and rubbing my stiff neck with one hand, I begin to pace the room, while trying to work out what to say to them. Footsteps cause me to look up, expecting to see Michaela returning. Instead I see a woman that looks vaguely familiar, though I'm fairly certain I've never met her.

"Hi . . ."

"Who the hell are you," the woman asks, her words dripping with acid.

Taken aback, I just stare at her, unsure of what to say or even think at that point.

"Olivia, who the hell are you," I finally answer, dripping a little acid myself.

"So you're the much talked about Olivia . . . I thought you'd be younger," she comments snidely.

Who the hell did this woman think she was? I try and tamp down the anger pulsating in my chest, causing my rational mind to take a vacation day.

"Look, I don't know who you are, and at this point, I'm not sure I care . . ."

"Severin Novak, Casey's sister . . . though I'm quite sure you haven't heard much about me. My sister and I don't really see eye to eye," she interrupts, setting a bouquet of flowers on the table and letting her eyes drift towards Casey's bed.

So _this_ is her sister. The one that she hasn't spoken to in five years. Meeting her and spending a total of five minutes in her hostile presence, I can understand why. I remember now that Casey told me that she lived in the city.

Taking a moment to really look at the woman, now that her identity was known, the family resemblance is suddenly made quite clear. Her strawberry blonde hair, several shades lighter than Casey's, is pulled up in a neat twist at the back of her head and help with a small silver clasp. Intelligent green eyes, the same shade as Casey's, stare out at me from her pale alabaster skin. The hostility clouding those eyes is almost enough to make me take a step back from her.

"My parents said you were with the NYPD? Some high profile unit or something?"

"The Manhattan Special Victims Unit, the same one your _sister_ works for," I retort, amazed that this woman didn't even know what her sister did at the DA's office.

She laughs, a crude humorless sound, as she glares at me.

"I suppose everyone knows about your little perversion then," she states cruelly, "could explain why Casey's still just an ADA after all this time."

I inhale deeply, trying to calm myself down enough that I won't just punch this irritating bitch next time she opens her mouth. Jesus Christ, she really is a piece of work. I place myself between Severin and Casey, my protective streak in full swing, ready to defend Casey against her sister's deeply personal attacks.

"Why are you even here if you hate her that much," I ask, grinding the question out through clenched teeth.

"I don't hate my sister _Detective_," she spits out my title like a curse, "I hate her lifestyle."

"Her _lifestyle_ is part of who she is."

"Her lifestyle is unnatural and wrong, of course you wouldn't see that . . . being one yourself."

Obviously, five years hasn't softened this woman's opinions of Casey's orientation any. Maybe I just don't understand, because I have no family, but if you loved someone before you knew they were gay . . . how do you stop after you know? Does it really change things that much?

"I think you need to leave," I reply, my voice as low and dangerous as I've ever heard it.

"Unfortunately for you _Olivia_, I'm her sister . . . if anyone needs to leave, it's you," she says, stepping forward to square off with me, eye to eye.

My hand balls into a fist and it's all I can do to keep myself from laying her out on the floor. She smirks at me, somehow aware of my internal struggle and finally I snap. That's it, I'm going to kill her.

"Severin!"

The commanding male voice snaps us both out of our little showdown. Her eyes register nervousness for the first time as she turns to face her father.

Casey's father, Nikolas, is easily 6'5" and still built with a lean, muscled frame; despite his age. Sandy blonde hair, sprinkled with gray and still in a proper military crew cut, frames his handsome face, doing nothing to soften the angles found there. His green eyes, the same misty green as both of his daughters, are now glaring at Severin disapprovingly.

"Dad . . .," she starts.

"Come with me," he states simply and I can easily imagine this man in a military uniform, ordering people about.

Shooting me one final scathing glare, she walks from the room with her father.

Casey's mother, who'd been hanging in the background starts towards me, enveloping me in a hug that catches me off guard.

Anna Novak is a slight woman, with fiery red hair and the temperament to match. Barely 5'5", it's obvious that Casey inherited her towering stature from her father. Despite this woman's small frame, I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of her wrath. I've seen her send her retired General husband running for cover.

Pulling away, she smiles at me sadly, "I'm sorry about Severin, she's just . . . I don't know, she never has approved of Casey's choice."

"I think she made that crystal clear," I grin, relieved that the tension in the room has started to subside.

I watch as Anna walks over to Casey's bed slowly, sitting primly on the edge and taking her daughter's hand.

"Has there been any change since we last talked?"

"No," I answer quietly.

"Why would she do this Olivia," she asks tearfully, looking to me for an answer that I can't give her.

"I don't know."

As much as I hate it, that's the truth. I have no idea what was going through her head when she did this. I've really tried not to think too much about it. She has been in so much pain since Madeline. Pain that I couldn't help her with. No matter how hard I tried, she just wouldn't let me in.

"I shouldn't have called Severin, but I thought she should know," she says, absent-mindedly stroking her daughter's arm, "I wish she'd just move past it and make an effort, but she's always been strong willed . . . all of my children are."

"They get it from Nikolas and I," she laughs, a musical sound tinged with sadness, that fills the room.

"That's not necessarily a bad thing," I say as I move to sit down in the chair near the hospital bed.

"You've obviously never been to a family gathering," she answers sardonically, arching her eyebrow in an all to familiar imitation of her daughter.

I laugh, finally settling down a bit after my altercation with Casey's older sister. I know that Casey has an older brother as well, in Iraq. He'd followed in their father's footsteps, joining the Army straight out of college. I've yet to meet him, but Casey assures me that he's completely accepting of her choices. She writes to him every week, occasionally sending him packages of candy and other things designed to give him a piece of home. I suddenly wonder if she's written to him this week.

"Did you tell her brother?"

"No, Nikolas thought it would be best to wait," she answers, sighing, "there's nothing he can do from over there."

I nod my head, understanding their decision to not tell him. The chances of him being able to come home would be nil to none and he'd just worry. When you're in a war zone, the last thing you need is something preoccupying your mind. I understand that to a certain extent. When I'm on the streets, it's hard to function if my mind is not exactly where it should be . . . completely focused and distraction free. You never know when a simple interview will turn into a potentially explosive situation.

"Casey told me that her and Severin haven't spoken to each other in almost five years."

Regret filters into the woman's hazel eye's and she lays Casey's hand on the bed to walk to the window and stare out at the city pensively.

"They're just both so stubborn," she begins, chewing on her bottom lip, "neither one of them will give an inch."

I grin at the woman's actions, so similar to Casey's.

"They never did get along, even as children," she sighs, turning back to look at me.

"Do you have siblings?"

I freeze at the woman's innocent question. She'd have no way of knowing my origins, I remind myself, moving to the bed and sitting down while I stall.

"No," I answer, unable to elaborate any further. Truth is, I really don't know if I do or not.

Smoothing Casey's hair back, I fall silent, slightly uncomfortable by the foray into my past. Hi, my name's Olivia. My Mom was an abusive alcoholic and my father was a rapist. How are you?

Somehow, I'm almost positive that would be a bit of a conversation killer.

My hand freezes as I catch Casey's eyelids flutter slightly from the corner of my eye. It was so subtle, so quick, that I'm not even sure I saw it in the first place. I take her hand, squeezing it firmly and once more there's movement behind her eyelids, as if she's struggling to open them.

"Casey . . ."

My abrupt speech causes Anna to rush towards the bed and sit on the other side.

"Is she waking up," she asks excitedly, turning to stare at me with wide eyes.

"I don't know, I think so."

"Casey, come on sweetie, open your eyes . . .," I say gently while attempting to keep my voice reassuring and calm.

Finally she does open them, staring from me to her mother, confusion clearly expressed in their depths.

"Thank God," I hear her mother say.

Raising her hand, Casey touches the tube coming from her mouth and her eyes grow wide in panic. Suddenly I find myself in a fight to keep her from pulling the tube out.

"Call a nurse," I shout out to her mother, while trying desperately to hold her hands down to the bed, which is only causing her to panic more.

I hear Anna's retreating footsteps as she rushes from the room, but I keep all my attention focused on my wildly thrashing girlfriend. It's taking all my strength to hold her to the bed, Casey's not a weak woman by any means. But I know that the moment I let go she'll do her best to jerk the tube that's got her so panicked out of her airway, so I continue to hold on, using all my weight to hold her down.

"Casey, you've got to calm down . . ."

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 14**

By the time the Michaela rushed into the room, trailing a string of nurses and the on-call doctor, Casey had calmed and lay staring at me, fear still very present in her eyes. I continue to smooth her hair back while holding her hand and offering soothing words to assure her that the uncomfortable device would soon be gone.

"Hey, it's okay, they're going to take it out right now," I say, offering her a reassuring smile before backing away to let the Doctor take over.

Anna moves over to stand beside me, her face drawn tight with worry as she stares at the medical team preparing to remove the tube.

"Go ahead and run the steroids, Michaela," the Doctor comments, briefly looking up at her while continuing to prep for the procedure.

She must have caught the look between Anna and I, because one of the other nurses moves away from the group to come over to where we're standing.

"Dr. Richards is just giving her those to help keep her airways from swelling when we remove the endotrachial tube. Nothing to worry about, they'll give her another injection once they've removed it." She smiles reassuringly.

"Could I ask you two to just step out in the hall a minute," Dr. Richards asks politely.

I nod my head, a little disappointed and worried to let her out of my sight. God, if she thought I was over-protective before, she really hasn't seen anything yet. With a final look at Casey, I make my way out of the room with Anna close behind.

"Okay, let's do this . . .," is the last thing I hear the Doctor say before the two of us are out of earshot and standing in the hall.

"Where's Nikolas?"

"Probably still dealing with Severin," she chuckles, looking up at me, "she was _not_ happy when she left the room."

"And here I was thinking that I made such a wonderful first impression," I quip, knowing that Casey's mother would appreciate the sarcasm.

She grins at me, looking slightly impressed that I've grown comfortable enough to joke with her. In reality, Casey and her mother have nearly identical sense of humors . . . both wickedly sarcastic and razor sharp. Casey's really the only one in the entire squad that can go toe to toe with John Munch and come out with her dignity intact. He generally just makes the rest of us look like stuttering idiots; not my girl though, she can dish it out with the best of them. Once I met Anna, I fully understood where that sardonic wit came from.

"She's really not as bigoted as she seems Olivia. I'm not even sure that Casey's orientation has anythingto do with it," she sighs, making it clear that it's a subject that she's weary off. "Casey and Severin didn't get along before she came out, afterwards wasn't much different."

"What's going on?" We both turn to see Nikolas walking down the hall alone. I briefly hope that Severin's gone home. I really don't want to deal with anymore of her irrational hostility today. The woman just grates on my nerves like a particularly course sheet of sandpaper.

"She's awake, they're taking the tube out now," Anna says, smiling at her husband in relief.

Nikolas unleashes a toothy smile that's charmingly boyish as he throws his arm around his wife's narrow shoulders.

I can't help but notice what a cute couple they make and how genuinely happy they seem, even after all of the years they've been together. Just your perfect, suburbanite, upper middle class couple with the kids and the dog and the big shiny house. Randomly I wonder if they have a mini-van, before grinning to myself and pushing the thought away. Maybe I'm a little bitter, I don't know. It's not that I would have wished my childhood on Casey, I wouldn't have wished it on my worst enemy. I guess I just wish things had been different.

Michaela exits the room, along with the rest of the medical staff, and heads in our direction.

"You can go in now, everything went fine." She smiles and takes her leave.

Immediately, I take a step towards the room, completely forgetting about Casey's parents. I stop abruptly, turning to look at them, ready to allow them to go in before me.

"You go ahead Olivia, right now she needs you more than she needs us fussing over her," Nikolas drawls, grinning from ear to ear.

I smile my thanks, unsure of what to say and supremely uncomfortable with their kindness towards me. It's kind of disarming to be accepted so readily. I suppose, on some level, I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop and the real people to come out from behind their carefully constructed facades. Not they've given me any reason to doubt them, they haven't, I just don't trust easily. Ever heard the saying that if it looks too good to be true, it usually is? Well, for most of my life, that's been my motto . . . a mantra of sorts that's kept me safe in my little fortress of walls and big, pointy defense mechanisms.

I'm afraid. I wouldn't admit that to anyone, even under threat of heinous and unspeakable acts of torture. Olivia Benson isn't supposed to be afraid of anything, or so that's the message I like to project. It's easy not to be scared when there's no one to care about but yourself and that's been my life for a long time. Now, I have a whole stable of things to fear. I fear losing Casey . . . but most of all, I fear not being able to live up to the caliber of person that they all seem to think I am.

For the first time in my life I've dropped all my guards and lain myself bare to the elements and it's the most terrifying feeling in the world.

As I walk into the room, even with my insecurities pulling at my mind unforgivingly, I know that it can be no other way. Casey's smile lights up her face as she sees me and I know, without a doubt, that I must overcome those nagging voices begging me to run for cover and give myself completely to this woman.

"Hey there . . .," I start, the words to express my feelings suddenly leaving my brain. Of it's own accord, my body moves closer to sit on the bed, longing to be in her calming presence. I take her hand and stare into her eyes for a while, content to simply to reassure myself that she's really awake.

"I was so afraid that I'd lost you." There, I've said it, I've admitted that I do get afraid sometimes and there wasn't even any torture involved. "Do you remember anything?"

She looks down at her lap, shaking her head slightly. "Not much. I just remember wanting to sleep . . . I was so tired." Her voice is coarse and rough from the tube.

"It's not important right now," I say, smiling and tracing her cheek with my fingertips. "I love you."

"I love you too Olivia." She grins, a tiny sad expression that barely tugs at the corners of her lips. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay Casey, it's behind us, we'll get through this."

She smiles at that, a smile that actually reaches her eyes. "I just got so confused and then Branch suspended me . . ."

"What?" This is the first I've heard of this. "Why did he do that?"

"I kind of missed a grand jury hearing," she admits sheepishly, looking around the room avoiding eye contact. "Kelly Gaffney had to stand in for me."

"It's okay. . ."

"No, it's not," she interrupts, staring at me intensely, "it's not okay. It was selfish and foolish. I'm lucky I didn't lose my job." The hard edge of bitterness in her voice surprises me a little.

"Branch knows better than to fire the best damn prosecutor he has," I say, grinning wickedly, hoping to lighten her mood. "Want me to go kick him in the shins for you?"

She looks at me for a beat, eyes wide, before bursting out in laughter. It's the most beautiful sound I've heard in months. "I'm serious Case, just say the word."

"Somehow, I don't think Cragen would be impressed when we have to bail you out for assaulting the DA." Her laughter dies down into a smile and she leans forward and places a gentle kiss on my lips. "That felt good. I haven't laughed like that in a while," she says, pulling back slowly.

"Well then, it will be my mission to make you laugh like that at least once a day from now on." I smile enjoying the easy banter between us, it's been a while since we've done this.

"How close was I Olivia," she asks, sobering and looking away.

Damn, I was really hoping she wouldn't ask me this.

"Hmm?" I know what she's asking, I'm just choosing to play stupid because I don't want to tell her.

"You know what I mean, don't pretend like you don't." She turns to face me.

I close my eyes, shutting out her accusing glare and reliving the sight of her pale body being lifted off the stretcher by the electrical shocks of the defibrillator. "Twice, once in the apartment and once in the ER," I finally say quietly, keeping my eyes closed.

She stays silent for what seems like an eternity.

"I never did do things half way," she mutters and my eyes fly open in shock, not sure what to think about her self depreciating humor at a time like this. I finally just take it at face value for what it is, a statement of truth.

"No . . .no, you don't Casey. I'm starting to get gray hairs already," I joke, leaning down to show her the suspects in question. "See?"

She reaches out, running her hand through my hair slowly, relaxing me almost to the point of drooling on myself . . . before yanking one of the gray hairs in question out by the root.

"Ouch, what'd you do that for," I ask, gingerly rubbing my stinging scalp.

"Cheaper than hair dye," she retorts, grinning wickedly, "besides, you had gray hairs _before_ me. So don't even try telling me that I'm the cause."

"Did not," I pout.

"Did _too_."

I lean forward and capture her lips in a deep kiss and wrap my arms around her, holding her tightly. I finally pull away, breathless from the kiss. "Don't you go trying to get rid of me again, counselor."

"Wouldn't dream of it," she grins, squeezing my hand and yawning.

"You need to rest and there's two more people waiting anxiously outside to see you," I say, getting up from the bed.

"Will you come back and lay with me for a little while?" She rolls her eyes down to her lap as if she's ashamed to ask for the comfort.

"Absolutely."

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

**Barren**

**Disclaimer**: Don't own them, though I wish I did.

**Pairing**: Casey/Olivia established relationship.

**Warnings**: Femslash. It also deals with the aftermath of rape, so it's not a happy piece folks.

**Notes**: I've tried not to violate any canon aspect of the show too heavily while filling in Casey's past. I don't think that I have, but if you're a huge stickler for canon, I'll go ahead and apologize if I did! Basically, Casey needed a past, I'm trying to provide her with one.

**Chapter 15**

I hate this. My throat hurts like hell and my chest feels like I was hit by a Mack truck.

I just keep asking myself what I was thinking, and try as I might, I can't come up with a damn answer to save my life. I mean, I didn't do this on purpose, but I still nearly landed myself in the morgue with my stupidity. I had just wanted to sleep. I was so desperate for it, desperate for the sweet release of dreamless sleep, that I couldn't think straight anymore.

As Olivia walked from the room I found myself wondering why she hadn't asked. Surely she knows that I wouldn't try and kill myself, she knows me better than that. If there's anyone I can count on to have faith in me, it will be her.

My life is literally falling apart. Unraveling at the seams and no matter how many threads I stop, another one always starts. I hate Madeline, I hate her for what she did to me, but I can't hate her for what I've become . . . I did that one all by myself. I didn't want help, I just wanted to forget. The more people that offered to help, the less I wanted it. I thought I could overcome it, shove it down into some deep, dark part of my mind and just go on with my life. When it became clear that I couldn't, I sought the one sure fire treatment for pain . . . escape. With every drink, the pain got a little farther and farther away, lifting it's smothering cloak and allowing me to breath again. There's a catch with that approach though, there's always a catch . . . sooner or later, you sober up and the pain's always right there waiting to come crashing back in. Nothing is ever easy, there's no simple solution, and the one's that present themselves as simple are inevitably always the wrong choice. I've spent the last three months of my life picking every wrong choice in the book.

"Casey . . ." I look up just in time to be crushed in a hug by my mother. As she pulls away, I look between her and my father, smiling uncomfortably and wishing I was a million miles away.

"What were you thinking?"

Well she never was subtle, I could always count on Mom to cut right to the heart of the matter, hacking and sawing until she pulled an answer out of you whether you wanted to give it or not. "It was an accident," I say quietly, avoiding eye contact with either of them like the plague.

"An accident?" Her voice is high pitched and incredulous and it makes me wince to hear it. I finally look at them and nearly buckle under the weight of their disapproving stares. "You almost killed yourself Casey and you say it was just an _accident_?"

"What do you want me to say Mom," I ask, feeling my temper flare a little, urged on by the pain in my throat in chest. "That it was stupid? Well, fine, it was stupid. I know that, you don't have to tell me."

"Casmira," my Father starts, his deep baritone voice gentle and quiet. Only he calls me that, no one else. I've never liked the name, but coming from him it's not so bad. "Your mother is only concerned for you, we all were, she's not accusing you of anything."

"I know." I sigh, weary of answering for my actions already and the real questions haven't even started yet. There's still Olivia, and Elliot, hell the entire squad. Not to mention Branch. I get a sudden and overwhelming desire to run as far and as fast as I can. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. It's just been . . . rough these last few months."

"We know that, Casey. If you'd just let someone help you . . ." My mother stops, shaking her head and dragging her hands down her face in frustration. "God, why do you have to be so stubborn. You, Severin; you're both as hard headed as mules."

"What does Severin have to do with anything?" They look at each other for a moment, serving to only enhance my confusion and I look between them in annoyance. "Mom? Dad?"

"She was here . . . earlier. Olivia was in the room and well you know Severin, there's no barrier between her mouth and her brain." My Mom stops just short of defending my sister, though she usually does. The thought of the sister I haven't seen in five years being in this room only a short while ago brings up a lot of old hurt and confusion that I'm not capable of dealing with right now.

"Olivia didn't mention it." Probably trying to protect me or some such heroic nonsense. My knight in slightly tarnished armor. I smile a little at the thought of Olivia, longing for her presence and wishing that she were here beside me.

"I'm really tired Mom, can we continue this later," I ask, not wanting to hurt their feelings, but barely able to keep my eyes open.

"Of course sweetheart, get some rest. Your father and I are going to go back to the hotel for a while, we'll come back later tonight okay?" She reaches down and grasps my hand, squeezing it and smiling, before getting up to retrieve her purse and coat. My Father leans down and places a kiss on top of my head, ruffling my already mussed hair and effectively making me feel like a two year old.

"Sleep well Kiddo," he grins at me and I find myself grinning back, unable to resist. I always was a Daddy's girl. I still remember the way it felt to see him after he'd come back from the field. I'd run to him and leap into his lap, fascinated by the shiny metals and various patches that adorned his uniform. He always had something for me, every single time. Small trinkets from exotic countries or some new piece of sports equipment to feed my hobby, whatever they were, they were always chosen especially for me. He never was the type to just pick up some generic gift to appease his youngest daughter. Even after all these years I can still feel the scratchy wool of his Class A dress jacket against my cheek and smell the starch my Mother would use to iron his uniforms. It's just one of those memories that you never forget, no matter how old you get.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

After leaving Casey to talk with her parents, I finally listened to my rumbling stomach and strolled down to the cafeteria to find myself something to eat. Like all cafeterias, the food was different colors and shapes, but it all tasted the same. Chewing thoughtfully on what was supposed to be a carrot, I watch the nurses and doctors eating their lunches and I wonder how they eat this crap everyday. I suppose you grow accustomed to it after a while, immune to it's bland taste and identical consistency. Thank God for doughnuts. I push the tray away, the food barely half eaten and reach for the chocolate covered doughnut with unbridled happiness. At least you can't mess up a doughnut, I think, sinking my teeth into the sugary treat. Okay, apparently you can mess up a doughnut. I drop the item on my tray in disgust, gathering up my trash and carrying it to the drop off window.

As I turn around I hear someone calling my name and I scan the crowd, trying to identify the source. Finding it, I consider making a hasty exit from the cafeteria before Casey's sister can get to me, but decide against it. I never was one to run. Instead I just stare at her, raising my eyebrow and waiting for her to say whatever she's come to say.

"Look, I don't like you . . .," she starts. Well, that's nice, I don't like you either; guess that makes us even. "However, I acted poorly and I've come to apologize for my behavior."

That was the most pathetic and forced apology I've heard in a long time, but I don't feel like arguing with her in the middle of the hospital cafeteria. "Thank you," I reply, though that too is forced and insincere. I refuse to apologize to her, I did nothing wrong. If that's what she's fishing for than she's going to waiting until pigs sprout wings and fly. "Not that you'd care, but your sister's awake."

I expect anger from her, but none comes. Instead, I catch a fleeting look of hurt that frankly just confuses the hell out of me.

"Good, I'm glad to hear it." She looks down at her feet as she shifts her weight uncomfortably. "I know what you think of me, but I do love my sister Detective. There's just a lot of burnt bridges between us that I'm not sure can ever be repaired." She turns to walk away and stops, turning back to me. "Please tell her that I'm thinking of her."

I stare at the woman, confused by her behavior, but still unable to get her cruel remarks from earlier out of my head. Whatever Severin's issues are, I'm really not sure I want to be involved. I don't trust her and I'm afraid she'll only end up hurting Casey again. "It's hard to fix something if you don't even try Severin," I say, failing to keep it from sounding like an accusation.

"Some things can't be fixed." She just turns and walks off, her ankle length coat trailing out behind her and her heels clicking loudly against the hard floors. It's amazing how two people can look so much alike and be completely different. There's no denying that Severin and Casey are sisters, their physical features are nearly identical. But inside they couldn't be further apart.

I shake my head, resigning myself to the fact that I just don't understand this woman and probably never will as I head back upstairs to Casey's room. Her parents are walking out, just as I arrive.

"Olivia, we're going to head back to the hotel for a while. Neither of us slept last night and we're just exhausted."

"Okay, I'll be here, so take all the time you need," I reply, thankful for the chance for some time alone with Casey.

We say our goodbyes and I watch them walk down the hall a bit before turning to go in the hospital room. Casey's sitting up, reclining against the raised bed, and nearly asleep. Trying not to wake her, I sneak across the room and slide onto the bed beside her. I'd promised I'd lay with her, after all. She stirs a little and opens her eyes, gracing me with a wide smile.

"I was just thinking about you." She snuggles into my shoulder and I drape my arm loosely over her, allowing her to get comfortable.

"Oh really?"

"Mmmhmmm." She pushes at my shoulder like she's trying to fluff a pillow and I snigger a little at her efforts. "I was thinking that you make a much better pillow than these bricks the hospital gave me."

"Well, it's nice to know that I rank slightly above hospital pillows," I tease, filling my voice with mock offense.

"Hey, you rank _much_ higher than hospital pillows." She looks up at me and then leans in to kiss me, a sweet and gentle exploration of each other that practically melts me into the bed. It ends and she returns her head to it's previous position on my shoulder. "My parents were kind of getting on my nerves. They just kept asking me all these questions that I didn't want to answer."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, just questions about what I was thinking. I think my mom thinks I did it on purpose," she whispers that last bit and I feel her stiffen against me. I don't know what to say to her, because I've been wondering the same thing . . . I just hadn't approached her about it yet. I really want to believe she didn't, I would have never thought that was her style. But, then again, why would she take so many pills? Even drunk, I would have thought she'd be smart enough to know better.

"Did you?" The question slips out of my mouth before I can stop it and she jerks away from me, hurt very evident on her face. I immediately wish I could take it back and kick myself for being so stupid. From her reaction, I learn everything I need to know. The guilt for doubting her makes my chest tighten and I try to reach my hand out to her. She pushes it away, staring at me in shock, her lower lip trembling as if she's about to cry. "Casey . . ."

"Get out."

"What?" Oh God, what have I done? "Casey, I'm sorry . . ."

"I said get out Olivia, I can't talk to you right now." Her voice, still hoarse from the tube, is shaking and I feel worse than I've ever felt in my life. I didn't believe in her. I shouldn't have doubted her, deep down I knew . . . I knew that she wouldn't try and take her own life. Why I didn't listen to that voice, I don't know. Too many years as a cop maybe. Maybe I've seen just a little bit too much. Whatever it is, I screwed up, and I have no clue how to fix it.

I try and make eye contact with her, but she won't even look at me. Holding back the tears, I nod my head and walk out of the room.

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 16**

I walked around the hospital for what seemed like hours before getting the nerve to go back to Casey's room. I had to fix this, somehow. At this particular moment, I had no plan for doing that other than prostrating myself in front of her and begging her to forgive me. I understand why she's upset. I didn't believe in her. I should have, but I didn't.

Approaching the door, my legs become heavy and seem to disobey my orders to carry me forward. Perhaps, I haven't given her enough time. I start to turn and walk away with that thought, but something stops me, holds me back and pushes me to enter the room despite all the arguments against it. Finally pushing myself across the threshold, a million apologies on my lips, I'm surprised to find an empty bed and no sign of Casey.

Worry nags for a moment and I push it away, chastising myself for my tendency to assume the worst. Turning, I leave the room and approach the nurse's station. A short Latino woman sits behind the counter, staring at the computer screen while idly playing with a long, dark curl that had escaped from her ponytail. I stand there for a moment, waiting for her to acknowledge me, but she continues to read the screen, seemingly oblivious to my presence. Clearing my throat, she finally looks up at me sharply, a look of annoyance flitting across her face.

"Yeah?"

"Is Michaela here," I ask, unsure if the young nurse's shift had begun yet.

"No, her shift doesn't start until seven. Need something?" Her dark eyes, darker than my own, remain aloof and uninterested as she continues to twist her hair around her finger, acting as if my questions are a nuisance.

"Room 3052, the patient is gone, do you know who her nurse is," I ask, determined to get the information out of her, even if I have to beat it out. She pokes at the keyboard for a couple of seconds, tracing her finger down the screen and squinting her eyes to read the small print.

"Sheila's got that room." She gives me the bit of information then goes back to staring at me uninterestedly.

"Can you please call her," I ask, exasperated with the woman to the point of pulling a very Stabler-like move and yanking her over the desk by the front of her scrubs.

She grunts at me and picks up the phone, dialing a number, and moving the mouthpiece away from her mouth. "I'll tell her to meet you at the room. You can wait there," she says, shooing me away with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Grumbling, I shuffle back to the room, irked by the dismissive gesture. Leaning against the door jam, I shove my hands into my pockets and wait. After a few moments, that seemed to stretch out into hours, I spot a short, middle-aged woman heading my way. Assuming that this was Sheila, I meet her halfway and smile at her, hoping that she's friendlier than her counterpart.

"Can I help you?" Her voice is gravelly and deep, betraying her as a long time smoker, but it's pleasant none the less.

"I was looking for the patient in 3052, she's not in her room."

"She wanted to take a walk, mentioned something about the chapel," she says, smiling at me. "Was there anything else?"

"No . . . no, that's it. Thanks." I throw the last comment over my shoulder, already heading towards the elevators on a mission. Realizing that I didn't even know what floor the chapel was on, I change my destination, heading for the map of the hospital just down the hall. Tracing the huge map I finally locate it on the fourth floor, just across from the elevators.

The first thing I hear upon exiting the elevator is the rich sound of a piano, it's melody melancholy and haunting. Following the sound, I realize that it's coming from inside the chapel and I push the door open quietly, attempting not to disturb anyone inside. The large chapel is empty, save a single figure, sitting at the baby grand piano in the front. I watch as she continues to play the melody, a classical piece that I recognize but can't name.

You learn new things everyday. Casey has never once mentioned being able to play the piano, but it's clear by the impassioned music that it's something she's done for quite a while. I continue to watch, memorized by the sight of her, eyes closed, swaying almost imperceptibly to the tune. Sliding into the last row of chairs, I'm content just to listen and watch, amazed by the speed of her fingers flying over the keys.

All too soon, the song comes to an end, and she stays silent and unmoving, her eyes locked on the sheet music in front of her. "That was beautiful," I say, my heart still pounding a little from the music.

She glances up at me, then looks back to the music. "It's the first movement of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata.."

"You never told me you could play." I keep my eyes on her, willing her to look up at me again as I move down the aisle towards the front.

"I haven't played in a long time," she says, finally meeting my eyes. I notice the bloodshot and red rimmed eyes and I know that she's been crying . . . because of me. The self-loathing renews itself and I again kick myself for being so callous.

"I'm sorry Casey . . .," I start and she moves to interrupt me. "No, just listen. Please?" My plea must have effected her on some level because she stays silent, allowing me to speak. "I didn't believe in you and for that I'm sorry. I can only say that I was wrong to make that assumption, there are no other excuses for my actions."

She inhales and exhales several times, her breath hitching as if she'd started to say something but thought better of it. "Of everyone, I thought you'd know me better than to assume that Olivia. I was worried about everyone else, but not you. I had faith in you," she finally says quietly and the betrayal in those words is so heavy that I feel as if I could reach out and touch it.

"I know, I'm sorry Casey. Please, don't push me away . . . I don't think I could take that." I know that I'm putting myself out there, completely vulnerable, but it's the only way I can think of to make her understand just how sorry I am.

"I've made my share of mistakes these last few months," she replies, pursing her lips together and fidgeting with her hospital gown, picking at it as if it's the most fascinating object in the world. "I got so lost and I know I've hurt you, but I'm willing to try to move forward if you are."

"We've both made mistakes Case." She's not the only one who's made wrong choices, we both have. I should have stepped in and said something a long time ago, but I didn't. I just let her deal with it however she saw fit and almost lost her in the process. I won't do that again.

"What we have is worth much more than a few mistakes Olivia. I want to learn how to deal with this, I really do. I can't keep living like this." She moves from the piano bench to sit beside me in the front row, dragging her IV pole awkwardly. "Maybe I should have talked to George after all, perhaps I still can," she adds, almost as an afterthought.

I look down at my lap uncomfortably, remembering my little altercation with the good doctor. I don't think he'll be wanting to see me anytime soon. As always, she picks up on my change in demeanor. "What?"

"I suppose you'll find out sooner or later. I kind of . . . punched George in the ER." I sheepishly look at my bruised and abused knuckles and she grabs my hand, pulling it over to better inspect the damage.

"Olivia, why would you do that," she asks, completely at a lost, as she runs her thumb gently over the darkened skin.

"I needed someone to blame. He just happened to be there." I resolve myself to just tell her the ugly truth, forgoing trying to sugarcoat it in any way. She might as well know. I blamed him for giving her the meds, unjustly yes, but at that moment, I just needed someone . . . anyone . . . to blame. "I split his lip, I don't think he'll be wanting to have any chats with me anytime soon."

She stares at me a little disapprovingly, but says nothing more about the matter. There really isn't much more to say. "I've made such a mess of things Liv. I nearly lost my job and I'll be lucky if I don't have to go through a full psych review after this little stunt. I almost lost you . . ." A single tear works it's way over her cheek.

"Hey, you _never_ almost lost me Casey. I never had any intention of going anywhere," I assure her, trying to put her at ease about where we stand.

"Promise?" The sheer vulnerability in that statement is almost heartbreaking. It's a childlike plea, begging for the reassurance that everything will be alright. I've never seen her so vulnerable, her walls laying in shambles around her, finally exposing the fear underneath. Unshed tears sparkle in her eyes, making them glassy as she stares at me, awaiting my answer.

"Promise." A single word, a vow that holds so much within it. She smiles as the tears run from her eyes and I reach to wipe them away, smiling back at her. "We should get you back downstairs before someone starts looking for you." I get up and offer her my hand, helping her to her feet and shuffling out of the quiet chapel, slowed by her dragging the IV pole behind her.

"Stupid thing," she curses, raising her hand to look at the needle sticking in it, "I'd just rip it out if I didn't think they'd just put it right back in."

"But it goes so well with the hospital gown." I grin innocently when she scowls at me.

"Don't even get me started on the hospital gown," she grumbles.

"I don't know, I kind of like it," I say, picking at the ties holding the gown together, the only thing protecting her modesty. "Easy access." I almost dodge the slap, but not quite, and it grazes the arm of my leather jacket harmlessly. "Easy now, you just assaulted a police officer counselor."

The scowl deepens as she narrows her eyes at me. "I'll show you assault Detective. If I'm going down, it'll be for a lot more than simple assault," she threatens menacingly and the mock intimidation she's projecting makes me giggle. "Hey! I'm being intimidating here, you're not allowed to laugh."

I wipe the grin off my face and barely suppress the laughter, nodding my head emphatically. "You're very intimidating dear. I'm frightened."

"You suck," she accuses, rolling her eyes and shaking her head in defeat.

"Occasionally." I glance to my side, just as her eyes go round in surprise. She chuckles and reaches over to take my hand, lacing her fingers with mine loosely.

"You are so bad. I think that's why I love you so much."

"What can I say? I'm irresistible."

"That you are, Detective. That you are . . ." She squeezes my hand and we walk down the hall in silence.

The coming weeks and months will be hard, questions will have to be answered and lives will need to be rebuilt. But here, holding her hand and walking in comfortable silence, I know that together we have the ability to face anything. Her recovery won't be easy, but at least she finally sees that she needs help. No one can do it alone. Being alone is so much easier sometimes, it holds a certain draw of simplicity and lack of responsibility. But for anyone who's ever been truly alone, with no one to turn to in a time of need, the desolate solitude is not something they want to rush back to. Being with someone is hard. It takes levels of trust and a willingness to compromise that will test your very soul. In the end though, when all's been said and done, it's worth it. The work required to maintain these relationships is something you don't mind doing, because you know the alternative.

Life really is what you make of it. We can't control what happens to us. That cosmic design is something beyond our understanding and I don't think we're supposed to understand it. It's how we react to the trials in our life that define us as individuals. In those moments, you really learn who you are. You don't always make the right decisions and the cost for those mistakes is high, but sometimes . . . if you're lucky . . . life hands you a second chance. We've both been given a second chance and neither of us underestimate the power of the gift we've been given. A lot of people don't get second chances. When you do, it's something you have to seize and hold on to as if your life depends on it . . . because you may not be so lucky next time.

**The End**


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